#mycroft being a mood
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Exact Opposite - Sherlock x Reader
Paring: Sherlock Holmes (BBC) x F!Reader
Word Count: 2,427
Description: When his brother still refuses to get dressed and take the case he has for him seriously, Mycroft calls in Y/N to handle the situation.
Other Things: Established relationship. Takes place during A Scandal in Belgravia. Reimagining of the scene in the palace where Sherlock refuses to get dressed. Dressing Sherlock.
Warnings: Suggestive. Suggestive teasing/touches and Sherlock being naked as per scene. Not exactly NSFW, but if you don’t like anything sexual at all, may be uncomfortable. Some swearing. Being snatched off the street by Mycroft’s agents.
Masterlist
Y/N certainly hadn’t expected to be plucked up off the side of the street on her lunch break by Mycroft’s agents. Then again, it was probably better to just assume it could happen at any time the elder Holmes brother willed it.
She’d argued in the street with them for a few minutes, insisting she had to at the very least go back and let them know she wouldn’t be returning for the afternoon. But as most interactions with his agents go, they scooped her up into the car and informed her Mycroft had it handled. Because of course he did.
None of his agents ever tended to be in the mood to chat either. From friendly banter to actual information about where the hell she was being carted away to this time, the most she usually received was a grunt or that ‘Mr. Holmes requests your presence’.”
Pretentious statement as always. Though this time slightly more informative, “Mr. Holmes requires your assistance.”
Clearly related to Sherlock, Mycroft rarely saw any need for her to be around as a whole. Generally he stuck to ignoring her presence at the flat or at Sherlock’s side, a sentiment she ended up reflecting back after several failed attempts at creating some sort of friendly dialog with her boyfriend’s brother.
That is, until he feels he needs to step in or he transports her somewhere on Sherlock’s request. Beyond that, they had little to do with one another. So clearly for her ‘assistance’ to be requested so hastily, it had to be related to Sherlock.
A queasy feeling settles in her gut at the thought. He needs her assistance… and had his agents immediately throw her into the car. Was Sherlock hurt? Staring out the tinted windows, she dreads the thought of a hospital coming into view.
But as they continue on and she starts to pinpoint the surroundings, she’s dumbstruck by the car pulling up to Buckingham Palace.
“Are we… at the right place?” She asks hesitantly as an agent opens her door.
He nods sharply and grasps her arm to pull her from the seat, “Mr. Holmes is waiting for you inside.”
“Right, of course. Mycroft just had me brought here for a cup of tea with him and the Queen huh?” She snaps as she pulls her arm back in annoyance.
The agent sighs and reaches for her arm once again but she pulls away, “You need to come with me Miss.”
“I will, you can lead me there without holding onto me like a misbehaving child.”
Shaking his head in annoyance, the agent nods toward the entrance and starts off, glancing back several times to make sure she’s following.
“I’m not going to run off, calm down.”
“If you do, it’s my head,” he grumbles, straightening up as another agent approaches them and speaks into his ear quietly. “This way, quickly please.”
Speeding up to keep up with the agent, she nearly runs into him as he suddenly stops in her path. He grabs her arms tightly and turns her toward a corner and shoves her in the direction.
“Hey-!” She snaps as she stumbles into the opening, freezing as four sets of eyes snap up to her. Immediately recognizing the two brothers and John, she zeros in quickly on her boyfriend.
Her very naked boyfriend. Sitting in a sheet. In Buckingham Palace.
“Ah finally you join us Ms. Y/L/N,” Mycroft states with a pained smile.
“I was on my lunch break when… I’m sorry but Sherlock why are you only in our bedsheet?” She asks bewildered as his cheeks flush.
“This is how they decided to bring me,” he states unhappily and shrugs. “I didn’t want to be here.”
Her gaze immediately goes to John who also shrugs, “Don’t look at me, he had me out of the city with a laptop to video call him for a six. He was like this when I got here.”
Looking back at the detective with a raised brow, Sherlock furrows his own and looks away from her, “Mycroft you didn’t need to interrupt her day as well.”
“Oh but I did. Y/N handle him. This is a matter of national importance, and this can’t continue,” he gestures angrily toward Sherlock.
“Yes, I see. Got it,” she answers, accepting the pile of his clothes from Mycroft. “Is there a bathroom or private room nearby?”
“Out the hall you came in, first door on your left,” the man she doesn’t recognize responds.
Tucking the clothes under her arm, she goes to stand in front of Sherlock and extends her hand to him.
Pouting his lips, Sherlock holds her gaze and tightens his sheet to himself.
“Sherlock, please just come with me.”
Sherlock reluctantly shifts the sheet around and lets her take ahold of his hand, quickly pulling him up from the couch and out of the room.
She tugs him into mentioned room, locking the door behind them. Turning to face Sherlock, she glances around the pristine bathroom and sighs, “Seriously?”
“They practically kidnapped me from the flat, I’m allowed to be naked in my own home.”
“You know how this shit works, if he really wants you there, you’re going to be there. I was literally picked up and shoved into a car myself today. When it became obvious they weren’t going to take no for an answer, why wouldn’t you just get dressed?”
“They handled you like that? They actually lifted you and shoved you into the car?” He asks sharply as he takes a step closer to her.
“I was arguing that I couldn’t just disappear over my lunch break without telling anyone, and they didn’t like that answer,” Y/N shrugs and sets the pile of clothes on the counter by the sink. “Not a terribly unexpected thing. Annoying, but I’ve accepted when Mycroft decides I’m going somewhere, I’m going there. I’d have thought you’d have accepted that long ago as well seeing as he’s your brother.”
“They’re not supposed to touch you,” Sherlock practically growls, his eyes flickering over her form and narrowing.
Taking a step closer, he runs his fingers gently over a red mark on her arm, “Name of the agents. Or descriptions.”
“Sherlock they-”
“No,” he interrupts her and reaches his free hand up to stroke her cheek. “They’re not allowed to touch you unless it’s a matter of saving your life. That’s the agreement. And they certainly shouldn’t be handling you so roughly they leave marks.”
“We can talk about all that later, if you haven’t noticed we’re in a fancy loo in the middle of a palace, and you’re naked,” she responds and reaches out to grab ahold of the sheet. “Now could we please get you dressed? The sooner you get dressed and hear out Mycroft, the sooner we can leave.”
“We?” He asks curiously, nodding at her as she pulls the sheet down from his body.
“Mhm, thought maybe you’d be more motivated that way,” her hand brushes slowly down his chest, her fingers gently running through the hair there. “And as fortunate as the rest of London would be to get a glimpse of this on the evening news, I think you have a certain look that you like to uphold my posh boy.”
“You make good points, yet do things to encourage the exact opposite of getting dressed dear,” he clears his throat roughly, one of his hands going to her hip.
Leaning into him, she presses several slow, languid kisses along his collar bone, “We can’t do anything of that sort here of course. Consider this… inspiration to get this all taken care of quickly so I can take you apart properly at home.”
Sherlock shivers at the contact and closes his eyes tightly, “You’re being absolutely wicked today.”
“I was dragged across the city to Buckingham Palace to make my boyfriend put his pants on, I think I have the right to be a little unfair,” she chuckles against him as she continues her trail of kisses up the expanse of his neck.
“Mm- fine,” he relents, pulling her in closer and nuzzling his face into her own neck.
“Now who’s the one saying one thing yet doing another?” She chuckles as he grunts against her and she reaches over to pull his pants from the pile.
Ducking down, she holds them out for him as he rolls his eyes at her and huffs in annoyance, “I can dress myself.”
“Could have fooled me,” she teases and nods down at them. “Step in.”
Sherlock sighs and finally steps into them, letting her pull the black boxer-briefs up his long legs. Settling the waistband into place, she presses a soft kiss to his abdomen.
“And trousers next,” she states, also pulling them from the counter and holding them out for him to step into.
He does so quickly, watching her as she pulls the fabric up, and grunting in annoyance as she carefully drags the zipper up over his growing problem.
“Wouldn’t be as much of an issue if you didn’t get everything tailored so tightly,” she remarks and slots the button in place.
“You complain, yet you enjoy it,” he remarks with a smirk and kneads his fingers into her hips. “You aren’t subtle.”
“Am I supposed to subtly check out my boyfriend’s arse? I thought being allowed to look was just a perk of dating,” she teases, pulling out his dress shirt from the pile and shaking it out. “It creased a bit, but it’ll have to do for today.”
“Of course it is,” he sighs unhappily, holding his arms out for her.
Slipping the first sleeve up his arm, she goes behind him to press a kiss to the base of his neck, causing a shiver to run up his body, “Always so sensitive love.”
“If you keep this up much longer, we’re both going to be leaving immediately after this,” he pouts, slipping his own arm into the opposite sleeve.
Coming back around him, she deftly does up the buttons of his dress shirt. Carefully tucking it into his trousers, she circles around him to pull out any wrinkles the best she can.
“Now I’ll let you handle your shoes and socks yourself since you’re behaving,” she chuckles and clears a space away on the counter for him.
Rolling his eyes, he hops up onto the counter and sets to the task.
Her mind wanders as she watches him, his long fingers moving swiftly across the laces.
“Distracted by something?” He asks after a few minutes, a smug grin on his face as she’s pulled from her thoughts and looks back up at him.
“Always you.” She pushes his legs apart to stand between them, “You are quite distracting.”
“I find myself in a similar problem with you,” his hands cup her jaw as his thumbs stroke over her cheeks. “You’ve made my life far more complicated.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” she teases, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to his lips.
“Oh it’s truly terrible,” he says lowly, pulling her face back to his own to kiss her again. His tongue swipes along her lip and he smiles in triumph at the sound that escapes her. “And yet I find myself liking nearly every moment of it.”
“Poor Sherlock, being forced to confront the fact he has feelings,” her hands squeeze his clothed thighs.
“There are some advantages to sentiment though I suppose,” he continues, opting to press various kisses across her face. “I quite enjoy all this.”
“As do I,” she agrees, taking a step back from him and grabbing his suit jacket from beside him. “Now hop off and get this on.”
Letting out an exaggerated sigh, Sherlock slips to the floor and accepts his jacket from her. Pulling it onto his frame quickly, he glances into the large opulent mirror beside them.
“At least the agents have good taste,” she remarks, reaching out to smooth out his jacket. “I love this suit on you, especially with the black shirt underneath.”
“I know you do,” he smirks and reaches up to run his fingers through his hair trying to tame the curls.
Circling behind him, Y/N sets to fixing the back of his hair, “I think this is the best we’re going to be able to do without any product.”
“If he plans on sending me anywhere, I’m going back to the flat first,” Sherlock complains as he stares at his reflection. “I’m not staying like this all day.”
“If you’d have cooperated in the first place you wouldn’t have had to go out like that at all,” she counters, chuckling at his scowl.
“You really think they’d have let me fix my hair for the day?”
“Mm, good point, probably not.”
“I don’t want to do this case,” he sighs after a moment.
“Why not?”
“I don’t do anonymous clients. He knows that. I’m always going to be missing information, and that’s not how I work.”
“Well it’s not your ideal… but look around. Based on where we are, that he had you dragged here in literally a bedsheet, and says it’s a matter of national importance. I think you can narrow it down to someone from a specific family of people. Depending on the rest of the facts, I think you can get by on that information. Besides, he’s not going to let this go.”
“I’m not a child, he can’t just force me to take the cases he wants me to.”
“Well he can make life really inconvenient for us if you refuse. And as annoying as being carted away and expected to do whatever it is; he is rather useful when you need him. He also cares for you, not that either of you would admit that without threat of death or dismemberment.”
Sighing once again, Sherlock turns away from the mirror and gives her a stiff nod, “I will listen to what they have to say. But if I don’t like it, we’re leaving.”
“Sounds like a deal, just give it a shot. Something this big is bound to be interesting anyways.”
Giving him one last look over, she gathers up their bedsheet from the ground and puts her hand on the doorknob.
Reaching out to her, Sherlock carefully intertwines his fingers with hers as she pulls open the door with her other hand, a soft smile on his face.
“To battle then?” She asks, squeezing his hand in hers.
“To battle.”
----
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Just an idea :) for Sherlock, what if Enola is always trying to get him to date cuz either he's lonely or always focused on work. But he always turns down the idea. Then one day she lures him to her favorite bookshop (or cafe, etc) and casually introduces him to her favorite employee. And the pickup line just comes out of no where, even he is surprised lolz. Feel free to not use this at all if you get better ideas😂
Thank you so much for this idea! For writing purposes, this will take place in modern times (*writing purposes meaning me being too lazy to write period specific)
Cheesy Pick-up Line (Bingo Game)
!BINGO ASKS CLOSED!
College!Henry!SherlockHolmes x Female!Reader
word count: 1.3k
warnings: a little bickering, awkward Sherlock, fluffy and cute
Enola giggled excitedly as she pushed past the glass double doors of her favorite library. Her brother was following behind closely, a disinterested look on his face as they entered the small building. For Enola, it was the perfect place to be, but Sherlock just asked himself what he was doing here instead of studying for his criminal justice exam next week.
What he had not concluded yet, was that Enola Holmes had an agenda far different from the story she had told her brother about just an hour ago. He didn’t know his sister had spent weeks finding a way to finally get him to leave his stuffy, foot-smelling boy room. She had mashed her brain about it as she roamed the shelves of her favorite place and when she checked out the other day, she was embarrassed to have thought of it so late. It was blatantly obvious. Her brother needed a girlfriend. Someone that would encourage him to live outside of his schoolwork every once in a while. And you were the perfect candidate for the job. Smiley and charming, intelligent and pretty, and on top of that, someone Enola liked very much. She had established a first-name basis with you over the hours she spent in the little library you worked at. Today, she would try to accomplish the same for Sherlock.
Sherlock stood between the rows of shelves, waiting for his sister to finish collecting the mountain of books he was sure she wasn’t even allowed to check out at once. She had recruited him to ‘help her carry them’ as if she weren’t very capable of it herself. And besides, Enola was the one always underlining her independence and that women could do just as much as men. Something wasn’t adding up.
Enola placed another book in his arms. One she had mindlessly pulled from the shelve to keep her story alive. It was a small sacrifice for the gratification she would get would her brother finally fall in love this evening. She was sure of it. No more feigned disinterest in the stories their family told about cousins and other relatives having their first partners. No more annoying dismissal of their mother’s subtle hints towards his isolating himself. No more bad moods because of the uncalled-for comments Mycroft threw at him when he visited with his fiancé. It was about to change today.
“Relativity Theory?” He lifted an eyebrow before Enola could disappear behind another shelf. “Hamlet? What kind of homework is this supposed to be?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” Enola quipped before placing an autobiography in his arms.
“They’ll think you’re robbing this place.” He readjusted the books because even though he was fairly strong, they slipped in his grasp. “How are you planning on checking those all out?”
“Jokes on you, my check-out limit has been upgraded because I’m a regular.”
“To 17? That’s too many. Too many books in general. Even for your ADHD brain.”
She glared at him. “Well, that’s where you come into play. With your card, we can check out 15. And for the other two, I’ll just have to sweet talk my way through.”
“You’re impossible, Enola.” Sherlock rolled his eyes as he followed his younger sibling to the counter.
“Shut up, It’s hard carrying enough character for Mycroft and you. You should thank me, really.”
“Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath and then he placed the books down with a thud.
Enola Smiled as she saw you approach the counter from the back office. Once you were here, the hot phase of her plan would be set in motion. And she couldn’t wait.
“Good evening, Enola. I see you brought someone new with you today?” You asked kindly with a bright smile on your face. Most people that came into the library didn’t talk much, but ever since Enola came around, she made the day a whole lot better. She grew to be a friend to you, which was why you also already knew who the handsome ‘stranger’ next to her was. But you wouldn’t reveal it just yet, that would be creepy.
“This is my Brother, Sherlock.” Enola just smiled as she placed her pile of books on the counter as well.
“Nice to meet you,” the tall brunette smiled behind his glasses, soft curls falling into his face when he nodded toward you.
“Nice to meet you, too. I would ask if you found everything you were looking for, but I guess it’s even more than that...” You counted the books, sending Enola a warning look. You had gone through the trouble of sweet-talking Old Mrs. Thomson if Enola could be an exception to the ‘only six books for home’ rule once again. Trying one more would get you on dusting duty for at least three weeks.
Your eyes locked with Sherlocks. “Do you have a library card?” And then your attention was back to the register, typing away on the little blue display.
Sherlock couldn’t see what you were doing, but he knew he wanted your eyes back on him. He didn’t know why, there was something about you that made him all excited. “Why? Because you want to check me out?” Uh oh.
Your fingers stopped hacking away at the outdated machine and your eyes wandered back to him. A deep blush tinted his cheeks and ears pink as you tried to hold back the laugh pushing at your throat.
Sherlock wanted the earth to swallow him whole. Why had he just said that? What was wrong with him?
And while her brother desperately attempted to hide his shocked face, Enola just stood beside him, equally stunned. She hadn’t known it had gotten this bad. His constant isolation must have messed with his social competence somehow. Because whatever she was just witnessing, was beyond secondhand embarrassment. He made her job harder to bring the two of you together, and honestly, right now, Enola did not see a chance for her brother.
“Yes, yes he has. Here!” Enola ripped the card from her brother's pocket and handed it to you. You, who bit your lips to hide the smile creeping on your features and shook your head.
Sherlock didn’t say another word after that. Too embarrassed to ever talk again, really, he waited out the time until you were finished scanning all the books and his and Enola’s cards. Relief washed over him when you said your goodbyes.
“I'm making an exception this time, Enola. Mrs. Thomson must not know about this and you better bring all of these books back without a single mark,” you warned.
But Enola countered weakly, matted by her idiot brother destroying the best plan ever made. “When did I ever not?” Still, she tried a sneaky smile on her lips.
When the doors fell close behind them and the siblings walked along the sidewalk home, Enola shoved her brother harshly.
“Great job, you idiot. You just ruined your only chance at not becoming a weird and bitter old man.”
But Sherlock didn’t answer. He was well aware of the embarrassment he had just presented himself as in that library and in front of you. With his head hung low, he opened the top book in his arms to retrieve his library card, but when he moved the piece of plastic and revealed the check-out receipt, all of his sister’s bickering moved to the background.
There, beneath the date and time of his visit, was your number, scribbled in blue ink with a small heart by your name. He smiled to himself as he traced the number with his finger. And just then, Enola glanced over his shoulder to find out why he hadn't told her to shut up yet.
Who would have thought that you would be hooked after a line like that?
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Cat's Out of the Bag | Moriarty the Patriot
Summary: It looks like you've been rudely interrupted mid kiss with your (secret) lover. Suffice to say the situation is quite awkward...
Content: SFW. Sherlock being Sherlock. Jokes about some characters reading too much into the situation but there is no mature content going on. Please don't tag this as anything but SFW!
Characters: Sherlock, Louis, John
Notes: Let me kiss them on the foreheads please 🥺
Sherlock Holmes
Well, this is certainly surprising. Mycroft didn't suspect that his routine "wellness check" (code for his surprise paintball gun fights) would end up with him walking on his brother sharing kisses with a lady
(He was sure he told him to beware of women once...)
And really, in the living room of the flat for anyone to walk in on! It was as if Sherlock would show no shame in being caught (true)
But...Mycroft didn't remember any woman catching his little brother's eye. It seems that this was a well-kept secret indeed
"Sherly, if you are going to show your affections to a woman, there are appropriate places to do so. Out in the middle of the sitting room with the door unlocked is not one of them."
"What do you want?" Sherlock hissed, running a hand through his messy hair. "Why do you always have to show up at the most inopportune times?!"
"Because I care for you, Sherly," Mycroft answered with a smile. Then his gaze drifted over to you, your cheeks growing pink. "My apologies for not properly introducing myself. You may call me Mycroft. I am Sherly’s elder brother."
"No one asked, now get out," Sherlock huffed, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes. "You've spoiled the mood."
"Why didn't you inform me that you had a lover? You'll be needing all the advice I can spare if this relationship is to be maintained. Besides, do you even know basic biology?" Mycroft sighed, shaking his head. "You have a terrible habit of only absorbing information that interests you. It's to be assumed that you have no inclination of the topic of se–"
"All right, that's enough!" Sherlock exclaimed, leaping out of his seat and pushing his brother towards the door. "Please, my dear, darling older brother, do not come back without an invitation. Bye!"
And before Mycroft could formulate a witty response, the door was promptly shut in his face, locked with a key for good measure.
"...Sherlock?"
"Don't mind him. He's always this irritating." Sherlock huffed, returning to his spot beside you on the sofa. "I'm sorry if his visit resulted in embarrassment for you. Now you can imagine what I have to go through on a regular basis."
"Pesky older brothers," you laughed. "I suppose it's fortunate I don't have one of my own."
"Truly. If you did, I have a feeling that they'd be grilling me on my reasons for courting you. I don't need any more sibling drama than I have now."
"Well, at least he's gone now, right?"
"And hopefully he won't be back for a long while."
"I'm guessing his display just now is the reason you didn't tell him that we're together?"
"Precisely. Now, I'm afraid we'll have to be careful about him barging in again. He can be quite stubborn in that regard."
"It'll be alright," you said, placing your hand atop Sherlock's. "At least now we know what to expect."
"Well, next time he can 'expect' the nearest object being tossed at his head."
Even Sherlock gets so embarrassed you thought, smiling when you noticed the red tips of his ears.
“You’re blushing,” you said, unable to resist the urge to tease him. It wasn’t often Sherlock got so flustered, after all.
“I am not.”
“You do realize that you scratch the back of your neck when you’re lying, right?”
Sherlock tsked, playfully rolling his eyes before pulling you into his arms. “You’ve picked up on too many of my tactics. You’ll pay for this!” Your laughter echoed throughout the flat as Sherlock tickled you mercilessly until you confessed to your ‘crime’.
However, a few kisses of recompense bribed your way out of a guilty sentence. Maybe that favoritism made Sherlock guilty, too, but he wasn’t opposed to the two of you being partners in crime.
Louis Moriarty
Well, well, well. Who knew sweet and innocent Louis would be caught with lipstick stains on his face?
Moran knew he shouldn't be so delighted at the sight in front of him, but it was almost like...he was seeing a little brother become a man
Besides, Moran didn't count on any of the brothers having a secret relationship. To say this was a surprise was an understatement. Perhaps the others would like to know…
"Sorry, Louis. Was I interrupting something?" Sebastian asked, unable to hide his toothy grin.
"Just what on earth are you doing entering the room without knocking?!!" Louis' glasses weren't enough to hide the blush creeping on his face which grew more and more noticeable by the minute.
"Didn't think you'd be so busy," Moran replied, wriggling an eyebrow. "The evidence of the crime is all over you."
"There was nothing indecent going on here!" Louis his face in his hands, internally plotting a million ways to get rid of Moran without arousing suspicion.
"You shouldn't have to say so if that were the case."
"Moran!!!"
"Okay you two, calm down, all right?" you sighed, trying to salvage the last bit of decency between you and Louis. "If Moran came in here, he probably needs something from us. What can we help you with?”
"Well, I was just dropping by to say that the last mission we discussed is still on. William's already moving forward with the plan. However, if you also need me to get the manor empty for a while, let me know. I can pull a few strings."
"Whenever you speak with William again,” you said through gritted teeth, “can you ask him to teach me how to get away with murder?"
"Oh, that's quite a specific request. Care to elaborate?"
"I'll elaborate when I put you six feet below the ground, Sebastian."
Moran put his hands up in the air in surrender, though the grin never left his face. "I was just joking around. Besides, if Louis gets this embarrassed just kissing you, there's no way he'd be able to–"
Moran jumped as a knife whizzed past him and embedded itself into the wall.
"If you get so caught off guard just by running your mouth, there's no way you'd be prepared for a surprise attack by an enemy."
"Aaand would you look at that, it's half past tea time! Better go help the others with the details of the plan."
You didn't think you'd ever seen Moran run out of a room so quickly.
"Louis, please don't threaten him. I know he's an idiot sometimes but..."
"Nevermind him. Shall we continue where we left off?"
You blinked, taken aback by Louis' sudden boldness. "O-Oh. You...want another kiss?"
Louis' lips turned upwards in a wicked grin. "Put them where your lipstick will be visible. I want Moran to remember how he barely escaped this situation with his life."
John Watson
Oh, uh…huh. Sherlock didn’t think twice about bursting into his dear friend’s room to excitedly inform him of the success of his new experiment and ended up…well…seeing John mid kiss with a woman he’d never met before
He couldn’t help but stare slack-jawed, completely oblivious to the mortified expressions of his companion and “friend”
But Sherlock had seen far stranger things, so he was able to quickly regain his composure and snap back to his usual self
“John, you should have told me you were going to have a lady friend over! I would have made sure to stay out of the flat for a while.”
“N-No,” John stammered, his tanned face flushing, “I wouldn’t make you leave so that…I…”
“It’s quite all right to want some privacy! Kissing someone is a very intimate affair after all, and I’m not about to ruin my dear Watson’s chances at romance!”
“I–”
“So, whaddya think of John?” Sherlock asked you with a wink. “He’s quite the catch, isn’t he?”
“Sherlock! I thought you just said you were going to give us some privacy…”
“Oh, I agree,” you replied, leaving John and Sherlock wide-eyed at your honest confession. “To be honest, I didn’t expect John to be so…good at his craft.” You winked back at Sherlock, the two of you exchanging smiles. It seems you were already well on your way to gaining the detective’s approval.
“[Name]!” John cried, burying his face in your shoulder. “Don’t start teasing me, too.”
“But you’re so cute when your face turns all red~” you laughed, lifting up his chin with a finger. “Besides, I can tell you like the fact that I take the lead in this relationship.”
Poor John was going to end up as red as a tomato if you and Sherlock kept on like this.
“Well, I’ll be going now. I’ll return in a couple of hours–got some detective work to do and all. Enjoy your kissing. Goodbye!”
As soon as the door clicked shut, John breathed out a ragged sigh. “I was not expecting all this attention today.”
“Shy are we?”
“Please, I don’t know how much more my poor heart can take.”
You laughed, wrapping your arms around John’s neck. “I’m sorry. You’re just so cute when you’re like this.”
John pouted his lips, pulling you in closer by your waist. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be saying that.”
“Then do.”
John’s eyes flickered down to your lips and back to your eyes, silently asking for your permission. You answered his question with a nod and smile, and soon enough, his lips were back on yours, bringing you to a state of unending bliss, whispering sweet nothings reserved just for you.
“Yes,” he said against your lips, unable to hide his smile, “you are quite adorable, darling.”
#guess who's back (for now) :3#moriarty the patriot#moriarty the patriot x reader#sherlock holmes x reader#louis moriarty x reader#john watson x reader
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535,600 minutes
Characters: Mycroft Holmes x reader
Summary: Snapshots of your first year with Mycroft, and how he adjusts to being part of a pair.
Word Count: 1924 words
Prompt: ‘How about Mycroft doing something seasonal.’
A/N: This one is for the wonderful @theweepingvulcan91. I couldn’t decide on a season, so I went with four, because who doesn’t want a whole year of Mycroft Holmes?
You met the elusive Mycroft Holmes in the spring. The details of how you both found yourselves at this particular gathering were lost to memory, but Mycroft was standing by a trestle table in the terrace gardens of Yardley Hall, failing to conceal his confusion and precisely how horrific he was finding this event. Small children were everywhere, which meant squealing and sticky hands and chaos. They were running around, searching (and ruining) the topiary in their search for small chocolate eggs, while a man, who Mycroft suspected was Colonel Yardley, was scampering about dressed as a terrifying giant rabbit.
“Which of these delights are yours?” Turning to his right, his scowl was met by amusement, causing his sour mood to melt just a little.
“Technically, none.” He took the flute of champagne you offered, mentally scanning your fingers for any signs of a wedding ring.
“Technically? That’s intriguing.”
“My brother’s friend has a daughter and they felt this would be a ‘fun’ Easter activity for her.”
“So, you are here for your brother’s friend’s daughter?” The way your brow furrowed while the corners of your lips curled up was enchanting, and Mycroft found himself momentarily distracted.
“I am merely their ticket in.”
“And yet, you are still here.”
“I am. And you? Which of these delights are yours?” He watched your response curiously, trying to deduce as much as he could.
“Oh, I am just here as a wingman to my friend who has a huge crush on some single father who is here. Honestly, we just kinda crashed, but I am trusting you not to tell on me.” Your eyes glinted with mischief and Mycroft realised he was chuckling.
“Your secret is safe with me, my dear.” Clinking his glass to yours, he wondered how long he could get away with monopolizing your attention. Unfortunately, fate, or rather his brother, intervened.
“Here’s Uncle Mycroft, Rosie. I am sure he will be more than happy to help you discover the last of the eggs.” Sherlock smiled brightly at the little girl, allowing his smile to tighten as he looked at his brother.
“Sherlock, I-“
“John is busy talking to a rather uncomplicated woman and Lestrade just called. As a responsible adult, I am leaving Rosie in your care until John is done. Goodbye, brother mine.” And with that, Sherlock strode off.
“Uncle Mycroft.” Rosie tugged at his coat, and he tried his best to hold back a frustrated sigh. “The bunny has put out more eggs, Uncle Mycroft.”
“Then we shall take your basket and see if we can ascertain their location.” His nose scrunched slightly as the four-year-olds sticky hand slipped into his, then turned to give you an apologetic smile, only to be stunned to find you crouching down to address Rosie.
“Which eggs are we looking for? What colour is the best?” You asked earnestly.
“Pink. They are bright and you can see them more so you can get lots.”
“Ah, so pink is easiest to see. I’m guessing, with that being the case, there are possibly a LOT of green ones still hiding. How about you look for pink, I will look for blue, and your uncle can look for green because I think he should take the hardest challenge.” You smiled teasingly as you looked up at Mycroft, who was suddenly imagining a whole future life with you.
Twenty minutes later, John was standing on the terrace, frantically scanning the garden as he searched for Sherlock and Rosie. His eyes widened with surprise however, when he spotted Rosie sitting on Mycroft’s shoulders as she reached up into a tree for an egg while a rather attractive stranger held the basket up for the treasure to be placed. This was a side of Mycroft he had never seen, and he considered filming a little to send to Sherlock. Mycroft looked happy and relaxed, and John couldn’t help but wonder if that was down to you.
The summer heat was stifling, and Mycroft wondered why on earth you had insisted upon meeting him in Hyde Park at the hottest part of the day. It was so warm he’d already had to remove his suit jacket, hanging it over his arm as he searched the vicinity for your presence.
“Mycroft! Over here!” His head whipped around at the sound of your voice, and the reasoning for such a venue became apparent.
“My darling, a picnic?” He looked skeptically at the blanket you had spread in the shadow of a huge tree.
“I have blankets to prevent you getting grass stains on your suit. Everything is in containers which can be closed while not in use so there will be no surprise insects in your food. We are in the shade, so you won’t burn. I have a fan, so you won’t over-heat. The drinks are on ice, I’ve brought all your favourites, I know how much you despise eating outside, but I was rather hoping you would make an exception, just this once, as the weather is so glorious.”
“How could I ever deny you anything?” He gave you a soft smile, appreciating how much effort you had put into this compromise.
Sitting next to you on the blanket, he rolled up his shirt sleeves and picked up a container of your favourite fruit, already cut into perfect bitesize chunks. Peeling off the lid, he carefully picked up a piece and offered it to you, silently elated when you ate it directly from his fingers. If this was where compromise led, then he vowed to be more compromising for you in the future.
The afternoon was spent laying in the warm breeze, reading and talking. At one point, he was sat with his back against the tree and your head resting in his lap, and he wanted to bottle that moment up and store it away in his mind palace, untainted forever. The scent of the grass and the dry earth at the base of the tree, the mixture of heat and mild caress of the breeze from the fan, the texture of your hair as his fingers toyed with it in a distracted manner, the weight of your head against his thigh, the soft susurration of the pages turning and gentle sighs which fell from you as you read. This moment right here was perfect. You were perfect. The last four months had been perfect. He wanted this to be his reality, his always.
“This is ridiculous.” He huffed, adjusting his collar once more. “If you wanted to get all dressed up then there was a masked ball we could have attended.”
“Mycroft, you look incredibly dashing, and you do not fool me for one instant. You enjoy dressing up just as much as I do.”
“That is-“
“Lady Bracknell.”
“How did-“
“Sherlock.”
“Ah. Sherlock.” He grumbled with a frown.
“It is Halloween, Mycroft. One party.” You hummed as you smoothed down his shirt.
“One party.” He nodded, psyching himself up for the teasing he knew would inevitably come from his brother.
“I think you make a rather stunning Victor Frankenstein.” This compliment had him smiling despite himself.
“Yes, well, you picked out the costume so I would hope so. I do think, perhaps, nobody will be looking at me when they see you. Exquisite, as always, my dear.” He tenderly caressed your cheek before leaning in and placing a gentle kiss to your lips, not wanting to mess up your make-up.
“Maybe next year you could be one of those detectives from those films you like to watch, we could do a little role play.” Your smile was mischievous, and Mycroft felt a heat roll through him.
“That is a role play we would most certainly not be doing in public.” He growled, pressing you close to him.
“Now there’s a thought. Sadly, we have a party to attend.” You pushed him away, leaving your hands on his chest. “But I will absolutely take that scenario into consideration for a later date.”
Watching you sweep out of the room, Mycroft knew he was left standing there, grinning like a loon. Just when he thought you could not possibly get any better, you threw something like that onto the table. In the back of his mind he thought, ‘I really need to get a ring’.
The howling wind battered the rain against the window, but it was barely audible over the crooning of Michael Buble which filled the room. The scent of pine was far too strong for Mycroft’s liking, and the pine needles littering his carpet were irking him, but watching you carefully unpacking various baubles made his irritations shrink significantly.
He did wonder quite how you intended to dress the tree, as the only light in the room came from the crackling fireplace and the fairy lights he had fought to wrap around the branches not so long ago. Regardless of his misgivings, he observed you assessing the tree before hanging the first of many ornaments from the branches.
“Are you going to stand there all evening, or are you coming to help me?” You asked with amusement, not even turning to look at him. Mycroft instantly moved to lean against the mantle above the fireplace, glass of whiskey in his hand.
“I was rather enjoying your masterclass in tree decorating, my darling.”
“Really? And here I was thinking you were just afraid of the tree falling on you again.” This earned a scoff from him and a light peal of laughter from you.
“It did not fall on me, it just became a little unbalanced.”
“Well, come over here and make sure I don’t become ‘a little unbalanced’ while I try to put the star on the top.”
Mycroft placed his glass down and moved to stand behind you, his hands coming to rest on your hips as you stretched up.
“Here, let me.” He murmured in your ear, his fingers trailing up your arm and taking hold of the ornament slowly, enjoying how you shuddered slightly at his touch. Placing the star on the top of the tree, he smirked as he pressed himself against your back.
“Perfect.” You hummed, turning your head slightly to look at him.
“Is this likely to be a tradition?” He asked as his eyes met yours. The lights from the tree illuminated your skin, making you look ethereal.
“I know how much you like a tradition.”
“I am rather traditional like that.” He smirked, leaning in a little closer as he wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.
“Yes, you are. It is one of the many things I love about you.” You smiled as you placed a soft kiss to his cheek.
“You have a list? That is interesting.”
“You don’t?” You raised an eyebrow as you suppressed a giggle.
“I have a whole filing cabinet full of dossiers.”
“That was smooth, Mr Holmes. Very smooth. Well, before we get into a rather entertaining argument about who has the bigger list, I am going to get the vacuum and get rid of the pine needles. I know that just knowing they are there, hiding, is itching at the back of that brilliant mind of yours.” You moved to leave, only for him to pull you back against his chest.
“And that is another of the multitude of reasons why I love you.” He grinned before thoroughly kissing you. Christmas morning couldn’t come soon enough, he could only hope that your answer would be yes.
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First Love; Mycroft Holmes x Singer!Reader [1]
Y/N and Mycroft's relationship was something that she would never forget.
Throughout her career, every single song that she wrote held memories of their past relationship. So when Sherlock finds out she is back in London, he can't resist the urge to meddle.
(Part of a mini-series)
People often say that you will always remember your first love, and for Y/N, this fact was true.
Every song she ever wrote held a memory of the first man she had ever loved, a part of her that she never wanted to let go. Whilst she could act like the lyrics were based on other men – other partners – she always thought of him whenever she would sing, and even as she stood in front of her current partner, it never felt right; he wasn’t him.
James was… nice, some of the time, at least. Sure, he could be rude and toxic, but he loved her, right? He was a good guy, maybe? She wasn’t too sure, but she was scared to leave. Whilst it didn’t feel right being with him, part of her was terrified of his reaction to her leaving. So maybe he wasn’t exactly a nice guy; this was solidified when Y/N discovered evidence of him taunting someone she knew and cared for dearly.
As she stood in front of the door to 221B Baker Street, mask covering her face so no potential fans would recognise her, Y/N glanced up at the window. It had been years since she had seen Sherlock. He was a child when they last saw each other, would he even still remember her?
“You must be John,” she nodded at the short man who came to the door.
His eyes widened, presumably shocked at her knowing his name, and he cleared his throat. “Uhm – yes, come on in.”
With a small thanks, the singer followed John up the stairs to the flat.
“There’s no need to wear a mask, you know. It’s not like you’re going to catch anything,” came Sherlock’s blunt voice, one that had Y/N smiling.
“Trust me, I know,” she responded, removing the covering.
Sherlock froze in place. “Y/N…?”
With a soft smile, Y/N nodded.
“Hold on,” John interrupted, clearly confused. “Y/N, as in the singer?”
She simply giggled and nodded.
“You know her!?” John turned to face Sherlock who simply brushed him off, turning to his former friend.
“Does Mycroft know that you’re here?”
Ah… Mycroft.
Y/N tensed for a moment at the name, and that was all Sherlock needed to see for his answer, even if he did have trouble deducing her in the past; he was young, after all.
“I have something you might find interesting,” Y/N smiled slightly, opening her bag to pass him some papers. “My… boyfriend. I think he’s stalking you.”
Sherlock raised an eyebrow, lifting himself from the chair and snatching the paper from her, something that earned a giggle from the woman.
“Moriarty… Never heard of him.” Sherlock mumbled as he read over the sheets of information that Y/N had gathered and stolen. There was no doubt that James would notice, but if she was going to potentially save Sherlock’s life, that was worth the risk.
“I really don’t have long, I have a song to record, but I’m hoping that can help,” Y/N nodded, shutting her bag before turning to the door. “Nice to see you again, Sherly. Bye, John.” As she left the flat, she heard Sherlock call to her.
“Tell Mycroft you’re here. I’m sure he’d be glad to see you.”
She simply ignored him.
Having spent the day combing through each detail of the document’s that Y/N had given him, Sherlock was in no mood to deal with Mycroft asking him to take a case that he has no interest in.
“No, I won’t take your case.” Sherlock stated the moment Mycroft let himself into the flat.
“You don’t even know what it’s about!” Mycroft was glad John wasn’t around to hear him almost yell; it would ruin his uncaring façade.
“Don’t care,” he paused for a moment, before a smirk began forming on his lips. “I have something you might want to know. Something about a specific somebody.”
“Don’t care,” Mycroft mimicked his brother’s previous words.
“I think you will,”
“Well, I think you are wrong.”
“Suit yourself, Mycroft.”
Receiving a call from an unknown number always had Y/N on edge, and her recent breakup with James was no help to the matter, yet she still answered it.
“Hello…?” She asked.
“Ah, Y/N, finally.” It was Sherlock. “Dinner, my parents place for Christmas, you should come. If you’re not too busy, that is.” In the background, the woman could hear Sherlock’s friend scolding him for how blunt he was being. Sensing her hesitation, Sherlock added. “My parents would be pleased to see you.”
A soft sigh left her lips. “All right, fine, but you’re paying for my fuel.”
It was a long drive to the Holmes’ place, but it was a pleasant one, even if the drive did have her thinking of her first love.
Would he be there? She couldn’t help but wonder.
Nervousness filled her body as she wandered towards the front door, placing a gentle knock. Sure, she had performed in front of thousands of people, but knocking on this door was the scariest thing that she had ever done.
“Oh my Gosh! I didn’t believe Sherlock could actually do it.” Mrs Holmes squealed, immediately pulling Y/N into a hug as she spoke.
“Hi, Mrs Holmes!”
Inside the house, Sherlock smirked as he glanced towards his older brother who seemed confused. He recognised that voice but couldn’t exactly place whose it was. As though he sensed Sherlock’s gaze, he looked towards him with a raised eyebrow, silently questioning, but Sherlock gave no response.
“Come in, come in! Sherlock’s already here, so is Mycroft!”
Ah, so he is here, Y/N thought to herself, taking a deep breath as she entered the house she had not seen in years.
Following Mrs Holmes into the living room where the others were seated, she was yet to be spotted by Mycroft, at least until Mr Holmes spoke her name.
“Ah, Y/N! Long time no see,” Mr Holmes grinned, smiling up at her from the sofa where he sat beside Mycroft.
Mycroft’s head shot up at the name, eyes shooting towards the door where she stood.
Sherlock… He thought to himself. Oh, how he wanted to kill him at that moment,
“You knew she was here, and you didn’t tell me!?” Mycroft demanded to know as he stood opposite his brother in the kitchen after excusing himself.
“I did try, Brother Mine, but you said you didn’t care.” Sherlock’s reminder of their previous conversation left Mycroft speechless, and he froze as he heard a familiar voice.
“Are you two all right? You kind of seem angry,” Y/N smiled sweetly. “Sorry, your mum sent me to check that you two hadn’t killed each other.” She giggled.
Sherlock knew that his brother wouldn’t speak, too frozen in shock and anger, so he had to. “Not yet, Y/N, but Mycroft wasn’t aware you were coming. I did tell you to go see him.”
“You did.” Y/N swallowed. “I’m sorry I didn’t, Mycroft.”
“Well, I guess this is my cue to leave,” Sherlock said, smirking the moment his back was turned to the pair.
An awkward silence filled the air the moment the door clicked shut behind Sherlock and they both cursed him internally.
“I’m sorry,” Y/N repeated, “I can leave if it’s too weird for you.”
Mycroft cleared his throat. “No! It’s… fine.” He rushed out, pausing for a moment before finishing his sentence as to not seem too enthusiastic to be seeing her again. Sure, it had been years, but it didn’t mean that he didn’t miss her occasionally. Although, that was something that he would never admit. Another awkward silence. “I’ve heard you on the radio, you’ve done well for yourself. I’m proud of you.”
Y/N blushed. “Thank you, Mycroft…”
As they stood there, memories of their past relationship began flooding into both their minds.
“Well, I suppose we should be going back to bother Sherlock.” Y/N grinned, desperate to get out of the room, praying that she could last long enough without admitting how much she missed him.
“We should,” Mycroft nodded awkwardly, before moving past her, into the previous room, glaring at Sherlock who sat beside John with a smirk on his lips, before heading outside.
Sherlock’s smirk dropped the second Y/N grabbed hold of his ear, leaning down to whisper “I’m going to kill you, Sherlock,” before moving to sit beside John who seemed shocked at how close she seemed with the Holmes family; he still couldn’t get over the fact that Sherlock knew her.
#bbc sherlock#bbc sherlock x reader#bbc sherlock imagine#bbc sherlock imagines#bbc sherlock fanfic#bbc sherlock fanfiction#bbc sherlock miniseries#mycroft holmes#mycroft holmes x reader#mycroft holmes imagine#mycroft holmes imagines#mycroft holmes fanfic#mycroft holmes fanfiction#mycroft holmes miniseries
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Hiiiii. If you're still doing requests. Would you write a (angst/comfort headcanon) about William, Louis, Albert and James s/o getting severely injured while they(the boys) were away on a mission and they(the boys) arent home to comfort and be with them?
I'm just in the mood for angst lol
Thank you
Stop everything went from Mycroft angst to Bond and Moriarty angst and my heart is shattered. </3
Paring: James Bond + Moriarty Brothers x Reader
Format: Headcanons
Genre: Angst?
Warnings: None that I can think of, but please correct me if I'm wrong so that I can fix it.
When the boys first found out about your injury/illness, they really weren't sure what to do.
William felt extremely guilty and almost considered cancelling all of his plans so that he could go home and see you.
Albert had to try his best to stay strong for the sake of the mission and did everything he could to encourage William to finish what they'd started
But in reality, Albert also wanted to go home
Bond was absolutely pissed because he wasn't there to help prevent it from happening
And poor Louis felt like his world was falling apart. First he just so happened to hear about William's suicide plan and now his only other source of light is being hospitalized for who knows how long.
But they all chose to keep going because of the fear that leaving half-finished could put you all in danger.
Just to make sure you were okay, William sent Moran to look after you while they finished the mission because he finished his job and didn't really feel like staying anyway.
I feel like they would all be pretty protective and/or possessive over you. Like, not in a "you're living under my rules because I love you and don't want you to even look at anyone else" kind of way, but more of a "I have no idea what the hell I would do with myself if anything happened to you" kind of way.
BONUS: Albert coped with the pain by drinking. (OOC, but if we're looking at things realistically, he probably would because that's just what people do.
#moriarty the patriot#yuukoku no moriarty#moriarty anime#ynm#yuumori#moriarty the patriot x reader#mtp x reader#mtp#william james moriarty#ynm william#albert james moriarty#albert moriarty#louis james moriarty#louis james moriarty x reader#moriarty manga#william moriarty#william moriarty x reader#yuukoku no moriarty x reader#james bond#william james moriarty x reader#james moriarty#i believe in james bond/irene adler supremacy#ynm james bond#kora's anons
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Hi Steph, how are you lovely? Thank you again for everything you do for us!
I'm sort of in the mood for fun Johnlock marijuana fics. John and Sherlock accidentally or not so accidentally getting high (and preferably naughty). I just finished lifeonmars' 'Smoke' and itching for more 🤭
Hi Nonny!
AHHHH okay I honestly don't think I HAVE any that I've read? If I do they'll be on one of my Drugs lists:
Self Harm, Danger Nights, and Drugs
Drugs and Drugging Pt 2
Drugs and Drugging Pt 3
I did a quick look on my MFL list and here is what showed up when I did a tag search... I haven't read them so I don't know if the drugs referenced IS pot/weed... If anyone has others that they can or would like to add, please do!
RECREATIONAL DRUG USE (MFLs)
Smoke by lifeonmars (T, 4,827 w., 1 Ch. || Marijuana, Recreational Drug Use, Fluff, Humour, Rock and Roll) – Sometimes time and space collide to show you something you've been missing. Sherlock's pipe helps.
Better Than by pandoras_chaos (E, 9,869 w. || Marijuana / Drug Use, Oral / Anal Sex, Awkwardness, Pining) – Mrs Hudson looked up at him and started giggling, seemingly unable to help herself as she clutched at her stomach and leaned back into the sofa cushions. Sherlock felt his face twitch, and he tried to contain the rumbling chuckles as they spilled forth from his throat, but it was useless. "The thing about John...?" she prompted after a few minutes of breathless laughter. "Ah! Yes," Sherlock sighed, reaching for the ashtray and collecting the expertly rolled joint, "The thing about John is..." he brought the lighter up to the end of the paper, took a drag and held it for a moment, feeling his chest expand with the fragrant smoke. "He's..." he exhaled long and low. "He's fucking brilliant." Mrs Hudson let loose a bark of high, girlish laughter. "You mean he's brilliant at fucking, dear," she corrected, reaching for the bag of crisps on the table. Sherlock felt his cheeks flush, but his face split into a sly grin. "I wouldn't know, Hudders." He sighed a bit wistfully, "I really wouldn't know."
Sit Pretty For Me by LipstickDaddy (E, 19,502 w., 10 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting Pre-S1, Recreational Drug Use, Light BDSM, Strangers to Lovers, Matchmaker Mike, Light Angst, Happy Ending) – What if John and Sherlock met once before, at an underground sex club, a decade before Mike Stamford introduced them that afternoon at Bart’s?
On Dates, Drugs, and Destiny by squire (T, 20,055 w., 3 Ch. || ASiP Divergence, Romance, Arranged Marriage, Crack, Humour, Fluff, Angst, Misunderstandings, Love Confessions, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Jealousy, Friends to Lovers, Courting, Drugs / Recreational Drug use, Case-Related Drug Use, Sherlock Being an Idiot, Meddling Mycroft) – When Sherlock Holmes and John Watson first meet in the lab at Bart's, it isn't actually for the first time. But why does only one of them know this - and should the other one keep the secret, or will revealing the truth ruin their friendship forever? A story of John being not Sherlock's date, of Sherlock being around way too much drugs, and a Destiny that always has to have the last word.
Heart on a String by AngelSpirit (E, 23,257 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Alternate First Meeting, First Kiss / Time, Infidelity, Angst, Fluff, Kidlock/Teenlock, Mentions of Recreational Drug Use) – John and Sherlock got married with Cracker Jack rings when they were 7 yrs old. It wasn’t official, but for their whole lives they took it very seriously.
Gilded Cages by MaryLouLeach (E, 52,323 w., 21 Ch. || Supernatural Creatures AU || Rape/Non-Con, Graphic Violence, Suicide Attempt, Attempted Murder, Vampires and Werewolves, Blood Drinking, Slavery, Dom/Sub Undertones, Torture, Anal Sex, Turning, Recreational Drug Use, Drug Addiction, Dark Sherlock, Protective Mycroft, Possessive Sherlock, Bonding, War, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Angst, Child Abuse) – The vampire remained motionless in the dark of his prison; his eyes clasped shut as if he were sleeping. However Vampires didn’t sleep, or rather this one did not. Sleeping would bring dreams; dreams were solely a human condition, whereas nightmares, nightmares were what plagued the sleep of the immortal. Sherlock knew he was a monster, and even now in this hellish prison locked in the unfurnished room, he felt the darkness of soul start to fester. Pushing at him and all he wished to do was silence it, he needed his fix needed more. The last addict he fed on wasn’t enough. He needed more, needed to shut out the screaming that plagued him that weighed him down and kept him shackled to his hunger. Part 1 of the GILDED series
Your Many Tendencies Series by apliddell (T, 52,222+ w. across 5 works || WiP || Femlock, POC Characters, Enby Character, Sherlock’s Violin, YouTuber John, UST, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, Slow Burn, Domesticity, Fluff, Recreational Drug Use, Friends to Lovers, Sherlock’s Past, First Kiss, Love Confessions, John’s Family, Christmas, Anxious Sherlock, Hurt / Comfort, Institutional Racism) – John Watson returns to London after a long absence, somewhat the worse for wear. She meets Sherlock Holmes, and starts feeling excited about life again.
Save Me or Let Me Drown by GubraithianFire (E, 72,986 w., 16 Ch. || Shameless AU || Dysfunctional Family, Alcoholism, Recreational Drug Use, Angst, Humour, Clubbing, Bipolar Disorder, Custody Battle, Mutual Pining, Family Fluff, Smut, Handcuffs, Anal Sex, Shower Sex, Rimming, Come Shot, Angst With Happy Ending) – How Sherlock escaped from his family, John sacrificed everything to his, and how, together, they built their own. Part 1 of the The Watsons series
Filthy/Gorgeous by MirabileLectu (E, 87,951 w., 12 Ch. || Prostitution, Alternate First Meeting, First Time, Recreational Drug Use, Drugs, Angst, Drama)– Even if this was legal, even if there was nothing technically wrong with what he was doing he knew that if he were caught, or if he were seen by someone he knew, or if he were found out in any way the shame would never, ever die. What would his regiment say? What would his family say? What would anyone say if they discovered that John was currently in a cab on the way to pick up a male prostitute for the evening?
To Light Another's Path by BeautifulFiction (E, 128,654 w., 19 Ch. || Post-TGG, Sick Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Drug Addiction / Recreational Drug Use, First Time / Kiss, Case Fic) – Teaching John to observe seems to be a losing battle, but when Sherlock falls ill and submits himself to John's care, will he realise that there is more to life than the science of deduction? Meanwhile, there is a murder to solve, and John must try and convince Sherlock not to sacrifice his own health for the sake of the case.
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sherlock x work rival reader. they're same on skills like sherlock has. and sherlock doesnt like it. on a case, they got partnered up, both of them hate it. at one point while gathering data/evidences, they got stuck on a closet/elevator, and things kinda heated up buttt they didnt go further bcs they were found/freed sooo later on that day, at night they continued it. 👀 🔥
basically a co worker rival, enemies to lovers, stuck on a closet trope one 😁
‘Sweetheart’
Sherlock Holmes x fem!reader
-DAMN. i lost the plot on this one BUT I LOVE THE IDEAAAAA <3 smutty enemies to lovers is my absolute fave, this is super long and should’ve definitely been a part 2 but fuck it we ball. enjoy u whores x
It was impossible. The slightest idea of someone attaining the same skill set as Sherlock made his eye twitch- but it wasn't an idea, it was a reality. You were impeding on everything he's ever known; the only person he knew that came close to his level of intelligence and observational deductions was Mycroft but he's hardly any threat to him, bonded by blood. You, however, were as pesky as you were threatening to his position and, to put it crudely, his ego.
Sherlock hated it, immensely. His blood burning cold at the mention and sight of your name. He cursed it relentlessly, no one could possibly be like him: he was one of a kind, a miracle of intelligence and a pioneer of human behaviour. It didn't seem like he was the only one. John seemed to mention you in passing only as a means to rile him up and lose his train of thought and confidence. He was always met with a defiant 'don't talk about her.' John had never seen him act like this before, almost as if he was threatened and scared; he was sure he wouldn't be able to live to see the day.
When you first walked into the room and presented yourself and called yourself a consulting detective, Sherlock laughed. When his eyes raked up to deduce everything and anything about your life, he was met with a hard and blank face- void of all emotion. Your face was almost lifeless, you weren't darting your eyes all around awkardly trying to figure out why Sherlock was laughing at...you stared directly at him with death defined and thinned eyes, absolutely not in the mood for games. You cocked and tilted your head whilst you stared him down blankly and he immediately caught that you weren't like anything he's experienced. You were extremely emotionally distant and didn't squander your time with games, your mouth was a hard line and you gave him a quick look of slight distaste. You didn't even ask who he was, you just ushered Lestrade to ‘’get "'him"' out of here.’’ The great Sherlock Holmes belittled down just to a 'him?' Did you not know who he was? The power his name held? He'd never experienced this type of treatment before and it made a slight shiver course through him.
You were now both here on another case, obviously not satiated with the amount of murder and death both sets of eyes see daily, an addict need of a daily fix. Lestrade had another one and surprisingly he needed both of you on it. Sherlock was despairing at the idea of both of you being partnered up, the woman he loathes, the woman he hates. It was his worst nightmare and now it was becoming a reality. Sherlock didn't have John with him either. He wanted to gather enough of you to catch you out with an overdue deduction and prove to everyone else you were nothing like him. That he would always remain superior.
‘’Why the hell is he here?’’ Your face could barely contain your annoyance at Lastrade, you were sure every bone in your body was turning brittle, the bones crunching by grinding your jaw. The dead body that you were all fawning over providing an insight into the case ahead.
‘’Get her out of here, I'll be able to get this finished by the end of the day without her pathetic ramblings.’’ Sherlock waved at you to shoo, completely undermining your competence.
‘’I'll be able to finish it in half the time.’’ You inched forward and scrutinised him through challenging eyes.
‘’Shut up, the both of you. I need your brains for this and I need you to work together, if not another person will end up like this and I doubt you'll want that kind of blood on your hands.’’ Lestrade finally struck the air as a means to shut you up.
‘’Brief me.’’ You said deapan.
‘’Female, 23, blunt force trauma to the head. It's likely that the same person that killed her killed the other four women we found earlier this month. she was about to wed but her engagement ring was-‘’
‘’Stolen!’’ You and Sherlock blurted at the same time, so sure of it all, incredible minds melding into one. His face darted to the side to register both of your reactions but you weren't as startled as he was.
‘’Time span is thinning. It's obvious he can't keep to his strict schedule of a kill every week...ohhh he's getting impatient he's getting sloppy and disorganised. Always have to wait for them to make a mistake, he took the ring and cut a good chunk of her hair off and stole the ring, he's motivated by rage and sexual drive now. The murder isn't just doing it for him anymore and oooooh that was his big mistake I’ll be able to find the guy in about 2 hours.’’' You hadn't even heard of the case before and you didn't even need to fully inspect the body, only briefed by a few sentences and you already knew what he was doing next. Your smirk and brightened face only told stories of certain and unwavering success.
Sherlock was about to deduce the exact same thing but his face was frozen and his mouth forgot how to speak, he couldn't get a word in edgeways. Lastrade just gave you a funny look and Sherlock's eyes held a noticeable fear. He had never felt threatened in his life before but he shook the thought out of his head and his obnoxious hubris rose once again.
‘’Trophies.’’ Sherlock said way too casually as he walked out of the room of where the body was laying, you and Lestrade on his coat tails like always.
‘’Collecting trophies as a way for compensating for his erectile dysfunction and 2 hours..? Let go of yourself sweetheart, I'd be the one to tell you that you're spreading yourself thin but I think you know that already.’’
‘’Call me sweetheart and I think I'll start my own trophy collection.’’ You pulled him back to stop him in his tracks and look in his stupidly smug face while you were promising on your threat.
‘’I'd like to see you try and fail.’’ Sherlock was inching closer to your face as a means to intimidate you but it wasn't working, he was just met with this challenging mutual stare, unwavering, faces filled with contempt like two arguing children.
‘’Stop bickering...and get this sorted. Now.’’ Lestrade rolled his eyes and parted ways with both of you, on his way to check in on the actual detectives on the case and not two amateur genuises he so graciously let in on these cases.
You and Sherlock began walking out of the house to catch a taxi and the disdain and cold attitudes were radiating off of the both of you. It's not that he hated the idea of a partner, John was a fine example of that, he just hated that someone else in the world other than his bloodline was able to read people like he can. Though he was physically unable to admit it, it was also because you were a woman. The scent of your hair when you put it up, the quirk of your eyebrows when you were focused in on something and drowning the rest of the world out. He couldn't read you. It was just a drawn out question mark.
‘’Don't need 2 hours to figure out that the suspect is white, mid 40s and lives in a suburbian eutopia, divorced, rarely sees his kids but lives in a house big enough to fill the extended family he doesn't have.’’ You thumbed the taxi down and both of you clambered in on the back.
‘’A fairly obvious conclusion. How'd you get to it?’’ He said with clear sarcasm watering his words.
‘’It's always the middle aged white guy people have to be afraid of. Bundy, Son of Sam. ...Anyone with a brain stem knows that.’’
‘’Not because you've been indoctrinated by true crime documentaries and podcasts from a young age?’’ Sherlock deduced and your eyes darted to his in surefire surprise, you weren't sure how he knew that. You took your time displacing all of your personal matters, it was a skill no one can have: being able to see through you. You tried to feign your nervousness and ignore what he just said. It could of been a bias guess into how you got into this field of work. No big deal.
‘’Highgate. He lives in Highgate.’’ Sherlock stated simply as if the answer was clear all along; you couldn't see it however and your face was of utter confusion when you stared at his smug smirk. ‘’Driver take us to Highgate please.’’ He said to the taxi driver and the car started moving.
‘’How could you possibly know that?’’ You sounded more surprised than you ought to; it was difficult to deny that he was incredibly talented, he was the only one that can see and think the way you can. Sherlock had the ability to breeze through the things that everyone thought was impossible like you could. You admired that, but he made it his mission to thrive through revalry. Granted you never liked him in the first place but you hated him even more for making everything a competition for the sake of hatred. The boiling blood between you was heating up once more.
‘’See I'm right, you're just like them. It's obvious, isn't it? The thin layer of mud on the floor next to the body is tinged yellow, something native to Highgate and only Highgate. clear as day.’’ Sherlock was obnoxious in tone, belittling you through subtext and quite literally.
‘’Hm.’’ You huffed and by that he took that you were impressed, he smiled out of the window before an idea pinged in his head whilst looking at the hotel in his peripheral.
Hotel. His eyes creased at the thought as if he was thinking. The small fragments of information coursing through his mind to spell out: Hotel.
The next murder is going to be in a hotel. He's taunting the police. He's murdering near every crime scene he leaves.
‘’Stop the car!’’ He yelled at the driver and you were pulled out of your daze, mind rattled with the obvious but still unexpected shift in character. The taxi stopped to a halt, the breaks searing hot as the vehicle was outside the hotel.
‘’What?! What is it!?’’ You yelled after Sherlock as he stumbled out of the taxi, his movements sharp and rigid.
‘’Hotel!’’
‘’Sherlock! You fucking idiot, wait!’’ You hurridely pulled out a few bills and shoved it in the drivers face before ultimately following him in his tracks and shutting the car door.
His mind was racing, he didn't have time to catch up with you and your frail movements. A muder was going to happen at some point here in this hotel and he was going to be the one to find him and catch him in the act. You were both in the cool, marbled lobby with the obvious fake and overdone gold finery. Sherlock was rushing to the elavator and you hated that you felt inclined to follow him and his absurd ideas, you hated him but you respected his leads. You were't completely warped and cut off from amicable society like he was.
‘’Elevator.’’ Sherlock punched the arrow up on the steely metal elevator. It was a janky thing, shaking as it arrived down and pinged at where you both where. It finally came to you in a flash through your foggy mind, Hotel. The killer was getting cocky, he's killing near the crime scenes as a display of power. Your eyes widened as you both got in, giddy on the fact you were going to catch this guy in the act. only you and Sherlock would be dizzy with glee over something as morbid as this.
"21. Floor 21.’’ You got to the number quicker than Sherlock did, his mouth quirked slightly as you crossed over his body to get to the pad and the way you finally caught on, he didn't even get to the idea of which floor he could be on. He could feel the scent of you, it was palpable. You smelt sweet, not too sugary not too clean. Just a natural sort of musk he couldn't seem to define which brand it was from.
You both looked straight ahead to the bleakness of metal infront of you as the elevator was lifting you up like a cloud in air. No need to talk when your thoughts were enough chatter in your heads. The jolt of the elevator dragged you out of your head, the sudden clang and whirr making everything around you seem less secure. Until it fully stopped.
‘’Shit.’’You blasphemed as you went over to the pad and pressed the button that made you talk to reception or control. All you heard was radio silence, the buzzing of it just intense static. ‘’Hello? Can you hear us? We're stuck.’’
You attempted to convey something but you were met with no one. House with the lights on and no one home.
‘’Hello? Get your silly little heads out of your arseholes and-‘’ Sherlock was already starting with people who weren't even there and you had to cut him off before he was about to go on a tangent with an imaginary ghost.
‘’Call Lestrade. Let him make the arrest.’’ You turned to face Sherlock, eyes exhausted and tired but obviously not surprised you would end up in an small enclosed area with him of all people. God, as if this day couldn't get any worse, you were sure you were experiencing your worst nightmare. You were met with Sherlock's aghast expression, as if someone had taken his favourite toy away.
‘’What? No! I'm catching this idiot, I found him, I'm going to see the life leave his eyes when I find him.’’
‘’A woman's life is on the line here, can you just stuff down your obnoxious hubris for one second and think about someone else for a split second of your life? Call Lestrade and tell him we're here.’’ Your face was that of sorrowful pity, all of this intelligence you harboured didn't wash away your compassion or your humanity like Sherlock did. He was jarred at your emotional ties with a woman you never even met, your eyes wer wild in fear and it was difficult seeing you lose yourself like this, he'd never seen you not calm and collected before.
With a huff, he grabbed his phone and called the number and told him everything and within a few minutes the telltale sound of sirens blared through your ears. You let out a sigh of relief when you heard the clamouring. Moments later, Sherlock answered his ringing phone and Lastrade's voice fell through.
‘’We've got him. You were right. We'll get you out of that elevator as soon as we can.’’
Your mind calmed when Sherlock hung up, now you had to fill up this awkward silence that was clouding between you both. It was swinging in the air and it was intensely tangable, your shoulder blades tensed when you crossed your arms. He always wore that cologne and you were unsure why that was the only thing you were thinking of right now. You were both leaning against the walls, so cold in your expressions; small breaths of impatience breaking through the silence.
When you weren't looking, Sherlock took this as an opportunity to scan you properly and not just through stolen glances. He needed to analyse you in a way that was different from the normal human because if you were like him you weren't in the band and social norm that is considered 'normal. Your skirt was vintage. Shirt and blazer firmly pressed. You valued simplicity, chicness but with a indivuality inspired twist with the vintage skirt. Your legs were bare but he could see the sheen of your stockings and thigh highs, you liked a little attention. Your heels were high, but it wasn't for show- you could actually walk in them for hours without your feet hurting. No ring. Unmarried? When his eyes raked up to your face, the dim elevator light shone onto your features; it made your eyes gleam and your lips plumpen- you were chewing on it now impatiently. It wasn't a nervous habit, you were bored. You had a sweet face that was blushing now, he wasn't sure why. It would be a lie to say you werent attractive and he was too tired to lie about it. It felt like the walls were closing in every second he was near you. The scent of you was becoming more potent.
You on the other hand didn't even need to look at him. You hated him. You hated him in every way, but what made you so drawn to him? You were never one for following anyone else but when Sherlock stumbled out of the taxi you found your feet following him and indenting every step he took, you trusted his opinion and you were awaiting his long overdue deduction of you- if anything you were looking forward to it. Sherlock was hot. He really was, physically. You once imagined what it would feel like to rub your fingers through his soft curls but you made the thought scarce, his eyes were a stark powder blue but his lips were sharply shaped but looked soft- you wondered what it would feel like to kiss it. He was a walking paradox that you wanted to unfurl. He couldn't hide behind the suits, the scarves and the coats any longer.
‘’What's taking them so long?’’You groaned into your palms before running your fingers through your hair.
‘’You can handle immense amounts of pressure but you can't deal with the slightest bit of boredom?’’ He questioned pompously.
‘’And you can? At least I don't shoot holes in walls at every given opportunity.’’ You weren't in the mood to play games and he was pushing you to the edge, you were too frustrated to even consider it. The claustraphobia was finally beginning to settle in.
‘’It's all relative.’’ Sherlock was obviously pleased with himself that he got you all snarky. He was still working the profile of you in his mind, with every moment he stared at you the pieces of you were flitting together. He was sure he got some sort of answer by the end of it to finally look you in the eye and tell you your own secrets. He smirked at the thought.
Silence settled through the air and it was even more awkward than before, so you thought it was best to rip the bandaid off now.
‘’So, are you finally going to deduce me and all of my dirty secrets?’’ You breathed, eyes slightly squinted in teasing defense.
‘’They can't handle it.’’ His fingers went to his temple to rub slightly before travelling down to his lips.
‘’What?’’
‘’They can't handle it. I feel as though you place your entire worth in your relationships and not your vast amount of intelligence. Relationships aren't a mystery to you, men are attracted to you, so obviously enthralled by your intelligence and aesthetically pleasing features but I'm sorry to say they look at your body first. The men that dare to play with you want your body more than anything else and after they have their way with you, they hate the way that you're more intelligent than they are. You clearly were never happy with any of the sex either, you've always been so tense since I've known you. Even I know what happens when a woman is faced with constant disappointment in the bedroom. The men can't handle that kind of emotional dominance in their lives. They simply can't.’’
Your eyes slowly started to widen with every word he uttered, he was way too casual in his words and the way his fingers were sliding over your lips was making your insides tighten. You haven't told anyone about anything with your experience with men, let alone the fact that you haven't came in so long. Embarrassment coursed through your shoulder blades at the sentiment but you felt something even more potent travel through you...the way Sherlock looked at you, the way his eyes darkened under the dim lamp light of the elevator. You weren't sure of the thoughts flying through his head. You inched closer to him, the space between you closing slightly.
‘’Am I wrong?’’ He raised an eyebrow, his voice husky and low.
‘’Never said you were wrong.’’ You said immediately, impassive in your emotions and tone as you crossed your arms.
‘’Have your go at me then.’’ His eyes involuntarily flitted to your lips.
‘’You did what they asked you to...not what you wanted. You're frustrated but you'd never admit it. You've seen naked women but not in a long time and when you did you weren't letting loose, maybe you're scared you think you won't be able to get it up but no...you're scared that you'll be contained in a box in bed. You want to experiment with something new. You want more. You've wanted more for a while now. God, if you saw a naked woman right now, you'd probably have to put your dick in a wheelbarrow.’’
Sherlock felt his heart skip a beat. He didn't like the specitivity of it, he felt like you saw through him with your vulgar words and his eyes were darkening. It was a lazy and fairly obvious deduction that he so clearly had a blind spot towards. With every word, you felt your feet inching closer and closer to him. Your faces weren't too far apart from each other and a small smile tugged on his lips.
‘’Was I good?’’ You stared down at his lips, mindlessly flirting with him as you chewed on your own. Sherlock readjusted his jaw before gawking down on you. The woman he hates...asking for his accolades. Damn. Before he could respond, the elevator jolted and was whirring up again.
Within a split second, the elevator doors opened and you were greeted with Lestrades exhausted face.
‘’Dear God, finally.’’ You huffed before ultimately clacking out and away onto the marble.
Sherlock stared at the sway of your hips and the pleasing view of your back profile, more importantly your ass. Jesus. He felt like a teenager the way his cock twitched in his pants at the sight of your stockings peeking through. He was just stood there frozen, watching you walk away from him...so confident. So sure. This was surely a night he would be set not to forget any time soon.
—-
You were about to get ready for bed. Undressing of your skirt, tights and blazer but when you were about to unbutton your suit shirt off there was a knock at your door. It was 11 at night, who could possibly be wanting to see you at this hour? You looked through the keyhole of your apartment door and you were shellshocked to see Sherlock at your door.
You were externally angry but internally panicking, you were half naked and he was at your door. You unlocked it and creaked it open slightly.
‘’What the fuck are you doing here Sherlock?’’ Your voice was drenched in fatigue, too consumed by the confusioning emotions and events of today.
‘’Open the door.’’ He demanded authoritatively, not in the mood for any games.
‘’Why would I do that?’’You retaliated but with that Sherlock but a large hand to the door and pushed it open- you weren't fighting back to close it. It only confirmed everything you felt.
‘’I said. Open. The door.’’ He let himself in and locked it back when he entered your sacred space.
‘’What do you want?’’ You questioned briskly, a cute little pep in your voice. He took his scarf and coat off and unbuttoned his blazer.
‘’You.’’He stated lowly as if he hasn't been sure of anything else in his entire life. Your body was malfunctioning, you were frozen by the heaviness of his words. The legendary Sherlock Holmes wanted you? You were sure you were locked in a daze, your mind crowded and foggy with this admission of honesty, but you felt as if this was a test or experiment of sorts.
‘’That's funny, tell another one.’’ You chuckled lowly, thinking it was his sick form of a twisted joke. You were about to move away before he caught onto your wrist and tugged you into him, you were against his chest and you felt yours cave.
You looked up at him, eyes bewildered and unsure of what his next move was. The rest of your face was hard, you weren't going to show him that he affected you like this; he was an asshole, hell bent on destroying and disillusioning everyone, that wasn't the type of person you liked but God... Sherlock was something entirely different yet similar to you. You liked having someone to banter with, the constant back of forth of insults and playful remarks. It was agitating and impossible but also incredibly fun. He said that men can't handle you, but he's not like other men.. is he.
You were sure he could handle you and you were filling to let him fall free reign over you.
‘’Listen to me. I want you…I want to see you naked. I want to feel every inch of your body when I make you feel everything that they couldn't. I don’t even need to ask because you’ve been giving me fuck me eyes all day, face flushed, thinking of the dirty things you’d rather have unseen, but considering our history... do you want that from me?’’ His breath was shaky and heavy and you were about to melt at any moment, your voice hitched in your throat.
‘’You teasing me?’’ You gave him a crooked half smile.
‘’No. If I could punish you I would.’’
‘’Who says you cant?’’
Sherlock was about to lose his mind, he was desperate and didn't have a clear head; any other time he might have been more graceful with his movements but you got him so madly insane he was willing to lash out.
He tugged you back into your bedroom and you let out a little yelp when he dragged you along, it's like the man had a spidey sense of your bedroom when he'd never been in your apartment before. His ego inflated with every breath you took, eyes alight when he kicked your door shut. When he turned back to face you, your lips were immediately on his, he found it adorable that you tiptoed just to reach him. You were right: his lips were soft, delicatessant and you opened up your mouth just to taste at him. sherlock spared no time in shrugging his blazer off but your fingers were patient, you ripped your lips away from his to look him intensely in his eyes whilst you unbuttoned his shirt one by one. He was revelling in your tease but he wanted you now. It was clear the way his hands immediately ripped open your shirt, the buttons flying everywhere. Your tongue tangled with his and you immediately discarded of his shirt, fingernails digging into his shoulder when he finally threw you on your bed.
‘’Not so posh now are you?’’ You flirted bashfully, absolutely adoring this change of pace he provided.
‘’Not so smart when I fuck you so hard you'll forget your own name.'’’ He gritted as he flipped you on your front so you were on all fours, in this position he could easily snap your bra off and rip your underwear off. And he did...fast. He was itching to get his hands on you.
‘’Sherlock. ..please.’’ You whined for his fingers on you.
You stifled a moan when you felt his lips kiss at your shoulder blade, travelling down to savour the taste of your skin; he can't believe he had you naked under him and you looked as beautiful as ever. You shivered when he bit down hard, he left a multitude of blossoming purple bites on your skin. You felt yourself grow impatient and you made it clear by your whines.
‘’Stay. Still.’’ He demanded and you tried your best to oblige but you couldn't.
‘’Fuck you! I ca-can't.’’ You tried your best not to scream but he was going far too slow for your pleasure.
‘’I said. Stay. Still.’’ A palm landed on your backside and he pushed your torso further down on the bed, no longer perching yourself on your own hands. He left another hard slap on your ass, slowly turning warm and pink under his coarse palms.
‘’Fuck!’’ You moaned, still shaking under him.
‘’I'll reward you if you stay still.’’ His voice was low and husky and it was making you so damn wet. You actually tried to stop shaking under him for that delicious reward you so relentlessly craved; you forced yourself to stop shaking.
‘’Good girl. Well done sweetheart.’’ Sherlock brightened at the pet name he gave you, he knew you hated it but in this context your moan proved otherwise. As a reward he bit one of your cheeks, leaving an indent in there as a means to claim you and mark you up as his. He smoothed the bite with a tender kiss and you found yourself blushing. ‘’My sweetheart. Not so mean now are you?’’ He mocked.
‘’Please just..inside Sherlock…I need to feel you. I'm begging you.’’ You tried your hand at begging and the amicable scoff he let out made you believe he was delighted by it. You? Begging? He never would have heard that in a million years. He gave you another cheeky spank before unzipping and tugging his pants and boxers down. You were right, he absolutely did need to put his dick in a wheelbarrow, he was so hard it hurt.
He grabbed your hair and tugged you by it when he slowly and torturously slid himself inside of you. He was so big, he was stretching you out unfathomably wide and you clung onto him tight. God he felt so good and him pulling on your hair exasterbated the fact tenfold. He rutted himself inside of you and you jolted up the bed, your moans bouncing off every wall and his low grunts panting in your ear when he bent down to kiss your neck. You couldn't string a single sentence together he was making you lose any sentient composure you thought you once had.
‘’Not so innocent are you sweetheart?'’
You couldn't answer him, not when you were completely spiralling and he was the cause of it. His cock ramming in and out of you at the brutal pace he so mercilessly set, you were so wet for him and you hated it. The man you hated for so long is fucking you in your own bed.
You never thought you'd live to see the day.
You were nearing the edge and he was losing himself in you, when he took your hands and held them in a tight iron like grip behind the small of your back you weren't sure if you could cry or scream in pleasure. You were on the brink and you weren't sure when you were coming back. He drew out a prolonged moan when you came onto him, that white wash of euphoria clouding your peripheral as you let your body go limp under him. The sound of your sweet wet moans made Sherlock spiral and he emptied himself in you, he let out a gutteral groan as he watched the sweat travel down your back. He stilled before rolling off of you and plating himself on the pillow beside you,
Your face stayed buried in the pillow for a little before you ultimately looked up and made yourself face the ceiling. You were both panting like lunatics, his curls were stickinf to his forhead and his brow gleaming from sweat. silence hung in the air for a while.
‘’C'mere.’’ He finally said with a sly smile, throwing his head back as an indicator.
You let yourself melt into him, you head on his chest as he embraced you with his big arms, tracing small shapes on your arms as you slung your leg around him.
‘’The elevator break on your way up here?'’’
———
i got so carried away but i love it sm 🫶
#sherlock holmes fluff#sherlock x fem!reader#sherlock x reader#sherlock holmes angst#sherlock smut#bbc sherlock#sherlock holmes smut#sherlock fanfic
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The Christmas Date | Chapter 2: Do they know it's Christmas?
Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Fem!Kerner!Reader
(Ron Kerner is Slider, Iceman's backseater)
Wordcount: 2.8k
Summary: Y/n "Athena" Kerner and Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw hate each other. Everybody knows. What happens when they have to fake date for a whole week to avoid Iceman and Slider's matchmaking plans?
(there won't be smut in this series)
Warnings: mentions of death (minor character DEATH), swearing, a bit of angst(?), the magical one bed trope.
Tag list: @littlebadariell @xoxabs88xox @alexxavicry @tayrae515 @shrimping-for-all @mak-32 @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @harper1666
(If you want to be tagged comment or sent an ask <3)
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Bradley can be a dick sometimes. He always finds a way of messing around with you. But he eventually gives in and helps you put your story together. And it this is the result:
You two have been dating for seven months now, after Rooster confessed at the BBQ party Maverick threw at his house on the 4th of July. He saw you there, being so happy, careless and free, a side of you that he didn’t get to see that often these days due to work. He just risked it all and confessed. Afortunately, you also had feelings for him. You've been keeping it a secret so the two of you could still work together. You've talked about confessing everything to your family recently and agreed to tell them on Christmas. But Slider's call ruined the surprise.
And that's it.
You two know each other since you were toddlers, all the other important tiny details you know them already.
"Have you talked to Rebecca recently?" you ask Rooster when you arrive at the airport. He said that he was going to leave the car in the parking lot, in case the whole lie you just made doesn’t work and you have to go back home immediately.
"Yeah, but I did all the talking" he says, opening the trunk and getting your bags. "It's been almost a year"
"Yeah. A year already…"
Rebecca, Iceman's daughter, lost her husband almost a year ago. John was a marine, served in Afghanistan for several months before he was killed in action. Jessica, their daughter who was four at that time, would never see her dad again. You and Rooster try to tell her stories about her dad, show her old videos that you have on your phone from when she was a baby, and just try your best so she doesn’t forget the memories she has with him. It’s difficult, and you know that when she grows up, the only reminders she’ll have from his dad are the ones you and Rooster had played during years on a screen.
Rebecca, Rooster and you practically grew up together. You were there when she met John in high school, when she asked him to go on a date, when they made it official, when he asked her to prom, when he asked her to marry him… You’ve always been there. And when Jessica came into this world, you were also there. The little girl was kind enough to come to the world in July, you and Rooster had been on a 3-day leave at the time. She was the prettiest, tiniest and most perfect baby you had ever laid your eyes on. As her ‘auntie’ it was your mission to be the cool, loving relative who would always take care of her. There was nothing in this world you could’ve done to stop her tiny eyes from shedding tears last New Year’s Eve, when her mom ran away from the room after a phone call. Iceman had tried to explain to her in the best way possible that her dad would never come home… but how do you tell that to a child without destroying her childhood? You can’t.
"I can't wait to see our little princess" he says, trying to lift the mood.
"She must be taller now"
He nods and moves to the inside of the airport. Jessica it’s, probably, the only topic of conversation you can have with him without arguing. And possibly, the only thing that would make you agree on something.
In the plane, you try not to think too much about the fact that you’re about to lie to your family for a whole week. You’ve never been one to lie and chances of getting caught are higher than you want to admit.
“Did Becca send you that picture from Disney World?” asks Rooster, pulling you out of your thoughts. Rooster and you thought that it would be a wonderful idea to give Jessica an early Christmas present and send her and her mom on a 3 day trip to Disney World. They’ll come back tomorrow.
“What picture?”
He gets his phone and opens Rebecca’s chat. “She sent it to me a while ago, maybe she forgot to send it to you”
“Or maybe she knows about the ‘relationship’ already and thinks that sending the picture to one of us is enough”
“Yeah, that’s probably it. Here it is!” he turns the phone so you can see your pretty princess wearing a disney costume. Well, actually prince because she is wearing Prince Adam’s clothes. And she even has a red rose. “She’s so cute”
“She goes to the best place in the world to be a princess and decides to dress as a prince. That’s my niece” you laugh, sending the picture to your phone.
“Our niece. Don’t keep her all to yourself”
Noticing that the daily dose of kindness reserved to talk to Rooster is running out, you put on your earphones and take a nap. It’s going to be stressful once you get off the plane, you don’t want to tire yourself before the big show.
“Do you see my father?” you ask, three hours and a long nap later, when you land. “He should be around here”
“If you can’t see him, how am I supposed to?”
“Because you’re a giant and I'm not?” you deadpan.
“I fucking hate yo- Oh there he is. Smile” he says, grabbing your bag with one hand and your hand with the other, while approaching Slider. “How can you be so old and still have better hair than me?” he jokes.
“Because I’m better than you. Period.” your father says, hugging you close. “My little girl, look at you! Prettier than ever”
“Dad, don’t flatter me i’m not telling you what I got you for Christmas”
“Damn, it never works” he moves away from you and pats Rooster on the back. “Nice to see you, Bradshaw”
“Bradshaw? C’mon, Slider. You’ve never called me that”
“Well, you’ve never dated my daughter before so now I have to act a little different around you. I need to scare you” he says.
“You know you can’t scare me, right?” Rooster states, putting his arm around your shoulder and bringing you closer to him. You can smell his cologne. “Maybe when I was six, but I’m older now”
“You sure? Let me try this then” he stands in front of him, looking eye to eye, and dropping his characteristic smile that always accompanies him. “You hurt my daughter, make her sad or cry and I will make sure the only thing you fly for the rest of your life is a commercial plane”
You can almost hear Rooster swallowing in fear.
“Did I make myself clear, son?”
“Yes, sir”
And then, just like that, your father smiles again. “Great! Let’s go home, kids. Maverick is already there” he walks away, turning every so often to make sure you are still walking behind him.
“You better convince him that you broke up with me” he whisper-yells at you. “Because otherwise, he’s gonna chop my dick off”
“I thought he said you’re gonna be flying with American Airlines” you remember him, trying not to laugh.
“Oh my god, I’m so dead”
You arrive at Iceman’s house. It’s surrounded by snow, Christmas decorations and some inflatables such as Snowmen, Santa Claus, fake gifts… Iceman went all out this year. Maybe, in a way, it’s to try and regain the Christmas spirit rather than remembering this time of the year as a sad one.
“Look at the lovey-dovey couple!” you hear Nick, Iceman’s younger son, yelling from the door. He is just like his father.
“You could come and say hi to your friends, you know” you shout for him to hear you.
“Oh, no, please. I don’t want to see your disgusting behavior up close” he fake gags, as if the whole situation could make him want to vomit more than you.
“We’re only holding hands?” tells Rooster, raising them as a proof.
“That’s enough for me” he runs into the house, making you roll your eyes.
“He didn’t get that from me” Sarah tries to blame Nick’s behavior on her husband.
“Oh my Sarah, it’s been so long” you hug her, she is the only aunt you’ve ever had. And she was the cool type.
“Please, you need to come home more often! I’m surrounded by aviators” she complains.
“Aunt Sarah, I’m sorry to tell you this, but she’s also an aviator” laughs Rooster, hugging her.
“But she’s my girl, it’s different. Let’s go inside, it’s freezing out here!”
You go inside and see a lot of pictures on the walls, half of your life displayed in pictures in a house that wasn’t yours, but whose owners were as proud of you as if you were her own daughter. You walk through the house, feeling a tightness in your chest when the memories from the last time you were here come to your mind. It’s been a year, but you can remember it as if it was yesterday.
You move to the kitchen to find Maverick and Iceman drinking hot chocolate from Christmas-themed mugs. When they see you, they hug you and ask you about the station you’re at, your job, but none of them seems to be really interested in your relationship with Rooster. Weird, but you’ll gladly accept that rather than a full interrogation.
All of you sit down, Sarah giving you some hot chocolate too. Talking about everything that has been going on, the new things that are happening in their lives, learning about new hobbies, friends… Just filling up each other makes you feel at home. This is what Christmas feels like.
“Are we going to talk about the elephant in the room?” asks Iceman sipping his chocolate.
“I’ve been waiting for someone to bring it up. And I don’t wanna be the prying old woman here but when are you going to tell us how everything happened? Because as far as I can tell my dears, you two have been always arguing.” Sarah is a bit skeptical about the whole relationship thing and, honestly, you can’t blame her. She’s been like your second mom.
And you really hope that your biological mom never finds out about this. She’s having a wonderful holiday with her husband in Hawaii.
You look at Rooster, moving your hand to squeeze his and take a deep breath. “Well, you know. Sometimes things are not what they seem to be”
“So how long has this been going on?” Maverick questions, leaving his mug on the kitchen counter and beginning the interrogation you so stupidly had thought wouldn’t come.
But you don’t really care too much about the answers. You’ve prepared them with Rooster, you know what to say, how to act, how to smile. You’re not worried about it. And Rooster seems to be a great actor, too. He’s not smiling the same way you are, but his little actions are more credible: how he looks at you when you talk, nodding so you know he’s listening, squeezing your hand from time to time, offers you his mug of chocolate when you finish yours. He even takes a napkin and cleans some chocolate from the corner of your mouth.
They should nominate you two to an Oscar after this.
“It’s disgusting to see how cute you are together” your father blurts out. It makes you snort.
“Thank you, dad. I’m glad you approve it” you roll your eyes, getting up from the stool and walking to get your bag. “I’m going to my room, need to unpack my things”
“I’ll take them to your room, princess.” Rooster offers, using that stupid nickname that makes your insides turn in disgust.
“Oh, about that. You’re in Rooster’s room” Sarah says, walking behind you to your ‘boyfriend’s’ room. “I mean, you’re probably done dirtier things than sleeping on the same bed”
“Sarah, let’s just not talk about our sexual lives, okay?” begs Rooster, following her upstairs.
She opens the door for you, entering and explaining where the blankets are in case you need some more, but you can’t listen to her. Your whole attention is on the queen size bed with a Christmas themed quilt in red, green and yellow colors. It has dozens of pillows on it, and it seems rather comfortable.
But there’s only one bed.
“You sure you don’t want us to sleep in separate bedrooms? We can do that, we want to be respectful.” you offer, but Sarah just laughs.
“Honey, I’ve been waiting years for this moment. Not you dating each other, that’s still a bit weird but i’ll get used to it I guess. You’ve never brought a partner for Christmas. And I was scared that you would end up alone, actually. Rooster, you’ve always talked about how you wanted a relationship like the one your parents had, but yet you dated that annoying Mindy girl-”
“Mandy” he clarifies.
“Whatever. She was a horrendous girl and I don’t want to hear about her ever again. And you, Thena. Have you ever been in a relationship? Because you’ve never told me or Terry about it. And she’s your mom!”
“Sarah, I d-don’t think this is the moment for this-” you stutter a bit, not wanting to talk about the lack of romance in your life.
“Oh sweetheart, it’s true. You’ve never had a boy-”
Rooster yawns very dramatically, stretching his arms over his head. “Aunt Sarah, it’s been a tiring day, we’re going to sleep and we’ll talk tomorrow, okay? And you’re wrong. She’s dating me, she has a relationship now. So, please, don’t make my girl more uncomfortable than she already is, thank you” rumbles Rooster while pushing her out of the room and closing the door. You hear the click of the lock and you feel like you’re able to breathe again.
“Thank you” you mutter.
“I didn’t do it for you. I’m really tired” he stands next to you, looking at the bed like it was an enemy aircraft that needed to be destroyed. “I’ll sleep on the floor”
“You’re not sleeping on the floor. I’ll do it” you argue.
“I’m not letting you sleep on the floor, you’re gonna be complaining about your back hurting you tomorrow and I don’t wanna hear it”
“There’s room enough for the two of us, you know” you say, really tired and just wanting to get some sleep.
“Try again tomorrow, princess. Today, I’m sleeping on the floor”
He doesn’t let you say anything more, getting the fluffiest pillows from the bed, a few blankets and lays them on the floor next to the bed. You try your best not to throw a pillow at him for being so stubborn. He could sleep perfectly on the bed, but he has to be an idiot and try to be a gentleman. ‘Well then, gentleman, I hope your back hurts like shit tomorrow’ you think, grabbing your things and going to the bathroom to change into your pjs.
Once you come out, Rooster has turned off the lights, and is laying on the floor, looking at his phone. “The door is still locked, in case anyone tries to enter tomorrow morning” he informs you, locking his phone once you’re in bed.
“Thanks, Bradshaw” you adjust the pillows and cover yourself with the blankets, closing your eyes ready to fall asleep.
“Is it true?” inquires the man, his voice a bit louder than a whisper, but you’re still able to hear it.
“What are you talking about?”
“You’ve never had a boyfriend?” his voice is a bit louder, and you can hear the curiosity in his voice.
“I don’t think that’s your business” you reply, turning around and thinking that the conversation has ended.
But not for him. “Well, I need to know, because if you’ve never been in a relationship there’s a lot of things I should do differently around our family”
“Why do you care so much about it?”
He moves up from the floor, sitting on the bed and turning the bedside lamp on. “If they know I’m your first boyfriend, they’re expecting me to treat you like a queen. And I need to up my game”
“Rooster, we’re faking it, in case you forgot”
He sighs, his hand scratching the scars on his cheek. “Can you please answer my question?”
“Fine, I’ve never had a boyfriend. Happy now?” you hide yourself below the blankets, not wanting to speak more about the matter.
“I’m beginning to think that you are, actually, allergic to the whole human emotional spectrum”
You uncover yourself and kick him with all your strength, making him fall from the bed. “At least I didn’t get dumped” you tease him.
“At least I’ve had some love in my life” he mocks.
“I hate you”
“Ditto, princess” he says, and before he can even finish the sentence, you throw a pillow at him and cover yourself with the blankets.
It doesn’t feel like Christmas anymore.
#top gun#top gun x reader#top gun maverick x reader#bradley bradshaw#bradley bradshaw x reader#bradley bradshaw x female reader#rooster top gun#rooster x reader#rooster fanfic#bradley rooster bradshaw#rooster bradshaw fic#top gun rooster#rooster x female reader#bradley bradshaw fanfiction
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The Good that won't Come Out - a trans!Sherlock fic - Part 1
So I started this WIP and have absolutely no patience about sharing it after it is completed. Please forgive my English, it is not my first language. For @gaylilsherlock who suggested the wound dressing trope. To be continued.
___________________________
"Girls, behave. Please."
I didn't think much of the way I'd just referred to a sulking Sherlock and an exasperated Lestrade, both of whom were leaning dangerously over the table in the Scotland Yard office, looking ready to punch each other in the face any minute now. Sherlock was being his usual self, showing off deductions that were only possible for me to follow, given that I live with him and, throughout the past couple of years, have become able to decode his tumultuous trains of thought. I assumed that the patience of my friend and colleague had run out and that he needed some quiet time in order to think this baffling case through, given that he raised the lapels of his coat and announced that he was heading home.
Anyway, I have a date tonight, so I don't really mind letting the case of the poisoned fashion designer go. I am more than fine with the turn of events, actually. I shoot Greg an apologetic look when Sherlock isn't looking and start buttoning my own jacket. I turn to Sherlock. “I won't be back till late. Go home, get some Thai, don't do anything reckless without me.”
He doesn't grace me with an answer to that, of course. “Give Vicky my warmest regards,” he says sarcastically instead, without really meeting my gaze. I decide to ignore his moods – I know better than provoking him when he's way too deep in a case he can't solve yet. I watch him turn around and leave the room with the tail of his impossibly long coat swishing dramatically behind him. I sigh, and follow suit to head to my date, for which I am already late.
*
It would have been fine if it only happened once, but apparently this is how John speaks, and for some reason it took my by surprise. Again. I should have seen this coming - this is how he really sees me, isn’t it? At least subconsciously - even subconsciously is bad enough. Why doesn’t he ever observe? I blame myself for letting my guard down. Of course, Captain John Watson, the epitome of traditional British masculinity and unchecked heterosexism would resort to such terms of endearment. And now here I am, recalling the words of my dearest brother: “You have let yourself be conquered by sentiment once again, Sherlock. You are entrusting a well-intentioned but vastly ignorant man with secrets you have been hiding ever so industriously throughout your life. I am observing you in sheer terror as you succumb to your miscalculations. How are you planning to proceed after John Watson discovers that you have so... diligently concealed the truth from him, after he reacts?”
Concealed. Truth. I snort. John knows the truth. He knows what he needs to know, he knows as much as he can stomach.
“He’ll have to know, at some point, being your doctor and all.”
“Oh shut up,” I hiss at mind palace-Mycroft, brushing away his rigid figure from my head with a wave of my hand. “John cannot know. He will never see me the same way again if he finds out.”
The night is chilly, my breath materializes before me in the form of smoke: dense, and woefully lacking of tar. I walk into the first corner shop and buy a pack, only to notice that my hands are shaking as I try to light the first cigarette, standing on the side of the pavement, shifting my weight from one foot to another. Pathetic. Look at you. Mycroft is right.
No. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep guessing, and hiding, and pretending it’s all fine.
He accepts and admires the man he thinks you are. Just one misstep and you blow up an entire life you’ve built for yourself, a life you’ve fought so hard for. John learns, and everything goes
fucking
boom.
I have been letting someone in so dangerously close to the core of my being, and yet I still have to live life hanging from the threads of how he sees me, how he reads me, like a pitifully open book yet still stumbling between the lines, faltering when I become too visible, immuring me behind performances and words.
John Watson is failing you.
And how could he not?
(freak)
I shake my head, exasperated. I take in a deep drag of smoke and watch it crystallize in slow motion. The lights of the city that normally surround me with clarity now become blurry and melt around me, pool on my feet like fireflies in a swamp. Smoking doesn’t help. Nothing is helping. My ribs are constricting around what feels like a hole in my chest, pulling me down with the familiar weight that used to press around me like Symplegades before.
What if John Watson had met me before? Maybe then he could have returned my feelings. Maybe he could have loved me if I weren’t who I am.
After all, John Watson is not, will never be gay. And I will never be what he likes.
These thoughts make breathing a strenuous activity. I wish I could ever only inhale nicotine. Not oxygen, especially when it becomes so sparse, not his hot, sweet breath that confiscates mine every time he turns his head as he’s leaning over me to stare at the computer screen, not the odd whiff of salty sweat, not his light musk of earth that is damp that is sturdy -
And then, suddenly, bliss: a distraction. A man in a suede jacket who is up to no good, judging from the long fingernail on his left pinky and the obviously borrowed briefcase that contains information of life and death on his ex wife. I don’t need to intervene, I’m not Clark freaking Kent (see, John? I have some mundane references) but I need something to keep my mind and body occupied other than these dreaded musings on truth and identity and John Watson’s scent, ever present in my nostrils. So I follow him. And he notices. And he quickens his step. And I chase him. In an alley. Good, this is good. Keep that adrenaline pumping. He climbs over some railings. I follow suit. My heart is racing with the rapture of something remotely interesting, finally. My physical deftness has never betrayed me before, until it does. I feel the sharp stab of metal on my ribcage as the railing scratches my side, ripping my shirt underneath my coat, and I feel the warmth of blood spiling from a long scratch on my skin that climbs up to my chest like a vine of poison ivy.
(well, this is unfortunate)
#sherlock holmes#john watson#johnlock#bbc sherlock#johnlock fanfiction#fanfiction#johnlock fic#sherlock#sickfic#Sherlock whump#trans Sherlock#translock#trans!sherlock#trans man Sherlock Holmes#coming out fic#queer#trans#tw: misgendering#(sort of)
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Sholmes and Mikotoba break me b/c they were so clearly meant for each other and yet they were separated for so long. This is kinda a long ramble and it's obviously all my HC b/c we know so little about their earlier days but. Ugh.
Before he met Mikotoba, I don't think Sholmes had any friends - he was not lonely per se, as he was quite content with his own company/interests and was used to being alone but he had never really been known or understood. He was used to being needed b/c he was brilliant but nobody had ever sought to really befriend or love him. And it makes sense. Sholmes, esp younger Sholmes, I think was probably a deeply difficult person to manage; arrogant, headstrong, and all too aware how much smarter he was than everyone else in the room. I would think the only close relationship he had was with his brother but, even then, Mycroft is seven years his senior and has never been particularly portrayed as a soft man.
And then Mikotoba shows up and here's this man who is smart and brave and kind, yes, but most importantly, he listens. He wants to learn Sholmes' methods and makes an earnest study of them. He praises Sholmes sincerely, follows him into danger, and delights in Sholmes' ramblings and hobbies. He tolerates Sholmes' more difficult moods, learns to manage him, cares for him when he is injured/sick, and tries to even protect Sholmes from himself. For the first time, here is someone who sees all of Sholmes and actively chooses to stay by his side. Mikotoba is the first and only person who knows Sholmes and Sholmes has never experienced anything close to this before. To be known like that is such a beautiful thing; how could he not fall in love?
From Mikotoba's perspective, I think Sholmes gives him a purpose again. When he arrives in London he's not in great shape. I think he left Japan partially to escape the memories of Ayame and to run away from the responsibilities of rearing Susato (which is a shitty thing to do, yes). He's there to learn about the British justice system but I don't think his heart is in it. How can it be with that much loss and grief?
And then he meets Sholmes and suddenly he's thrust into Sholmes' world. I think Mikotoba maintains he wants to lead a peaceful life but the allure of the mystery, the thrill of danger, and most importantly, Sholmes himself are things he simply cannot stay away from. Sholmes is fascinating and brilliant and captivating and most importantly, he is a good man. And I think that goodness is so important for Mikotoba because it reminds him that there is good in this world and not everything is loss and grief and despite everything, he is here by Sholmes' side for a reason. He has a purpose again. Ofc he would fall in love with Sholmes.
On top of all that, I think they just are also pals. They're good friends who laugh together and dine together and go to concerts together. They teach each other how to fight (in the original stories, Holmes escapes Moriarty with a hybrid form of martial arts that is based partially in judo and jiu-jitsu so I think in dgs he learns that from Mikotoba) and gossip about Scotland Yard and get into trouble together. They have this grand love story yes, and it is built in dark alleyways and dangerous pursuits and the London underbelly but it is also built in easy laughter and private violin concerts and comfortable domesticity.
And then Capcom separates them for ten years without even cellphones or planes, with two daughters to raise, and the horrible grief of losing some of their closest friends in London. Sholmes loses the only person who knew him and Mikotoba loses the man who gave him purpose again. They both lose their best friend. God. I know they're eventually reunited but the sheer loss of time is staggering; ten years is so long and it is especially long to miss your other half. What the fuck Capcom.
#tom talks#sorry im going insane this friday night#this is why hmmk hurts me prob more than any other aa ship#nobody does it like them what the fuck#a lot of this is pulled obviously from other sherlock holmes material but it still breaks me#how could you separate holmes and watson they are literally a set#and for an entire decade#ahHHHhhhhh!!!!!#anyways sorry for this ramble but. them. ugh.#dgs#herlock sholmes#yujin mikotoba#homumiko#dgs2 spoilers
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Reminding Me
Greg Lestrade was not having the best day. Awake since a quarter of three in the morning, it was now half past one in the morning. He stood back while Donovan questioned a new widow. There was something about the woman that niggled at the back of his mind, something he could not put a finger on.
Same with a book he saw in the window of a shop that morning. And with the new watch he noticed on his boss’ wrist while being royally blasted by him for something that was not his fault.
Greg chastised himself to pay attention before he missed something – else, or nearly did something stupid – again.
Goodness knows I do not need another dressing down from Sherlock Holmes, when I was caught semi day-dreaming.
There had been something about a painting in a different murder’s home that had triggered a similar feeling he could not quite grasp.
“I would think the copious amount of blood on the floor you’re about to step into would have your attention, not- whatever that monstrosity passing itself off as art on the wall. Clearly you don’t need my assistance if you can’t pay attention, Inspector. ”
And with that Sherlock flounced off minutes later.
Now hours after the fact, it still rankled. Suffice it to say when his phone buzzed with a familiar pattern Greg was not in the mood.
Mycroft. Oh, Christ, what does he want?
Before he fully retrieved his phone from his pocket the buzzing stopped. Assuming an accidental dial, and grateful to no have to deal with the man right now, Greg went back to work. He would have completely dismissed the incident if the same did not happen again as he and Donovan left the scene and called it quits for the night.
Greg stared at his phone in surprise. Mycroft Holmes accidentally dialing someone once was a mistake. But twice – within the span of twenty minutes?
That did NOT happen.
Greg immediately dialed the man as he rushed to his car.
“Gregory, I apologize. I was not aware of the late hour and…”
Tired as he was, even Greg heard the falsehood of it. Greg did not lie to himself. He knew Mycroft Holmes to be a master manipulator. If he truly wanted to lie to Greg, he would be none the wiser. Greg did not think twice as he interrupted.
“Bollocks, Mycroft. What do you need?”
“I…”
The phone fell silent. The seconds ticking by was the only reason Greg knew the man had not rung out. As Greg somehow knew he would, he smiled to himself when Mycroft spoke again exactly as the minute mark struck.
“I must suffer being in close quarters with another being.”
Mycroft suffer?
His exhaustion fled; Greg looked at his phone. “Excuse me?”
The uber intelligent genius worked in a position the world does not know exists and is better for it. Mycroft Holmes causes suffering in others who do not listen to his advice in that position. Mycroft himself does not suffer for anything but save his brother and migraines; that his brother, Sherlock, was sometimes the cause of said Migraines, notwithstanding. A man for whom caring is not an advantage is practically a mantra, Mycroft most certainly did not suffer the company of others if he did not have to, including Greg’s. Something he had made known repeatedly in their association, even if that now decade old association has slowly grown into something of a friendship from once acrimonious beginnings.
Greg started his car. “It’s past two in the morning, Mycroft. I’m having a bad day, could you be a little more forthcoming?”
“I know, Gregory... As am I...” Mycroft sighed. Before Greg could take in the enormity of that admission, Mycroft continued. “I... I find myself in the unique mindset of desiring quiet, but not solitude and the Quiet Room will not do. If I must do this – and clearly, I must – the only compromise is to align myself with someone who would cause the least egregiousness to my sensibilities. I lament that it seems it would be… you.”
“I…” It was Greg’s turn to take a full minute to parse through the backhanded part to reach the possible compliment.
He wants company? But not just any company. He wants MY company…
“Where are you?”
“Diogenes, if you’re too tired, Gregory, I will underst-”
“Be there in twenty.” Greg rang out.
---- ----
A middle of the night Mycroft sat behind his desk. His shirt sleeves were perfectly folded, exposing his forearms. It was only the second time Greg had seen him as such. With his eyes glued to his work, Mycroft blinked when Greg stood at the door and softly cleared his throat.
You called here I am. Your insufferable company.
Mycroft checked the time, seventeen minutes. He gave a slight smile when Greg said nothing else as he closed the door, and hung his trench on the rack.
Always the perfect host, Mycroft gestured between the choice of the wingback chairs by the fireplace, a decanter of what Greg knew would be very expensive brandy on a table between them, or the sofa which had a pillow and a blanket folded on top, in deference to the late hour.
Mycroft stood; a curious look flickered across his face as Greg chose neither but approached the desk instead.
Greg closed the laptop and glared at Mycroft daring him to gainsay him as he pointed to the chairs.
You want quiet, but not solitude, but you are not working while I just sit around and twiddle my…
Caught in Mycroft’s blue/grey gaze he was reminded of the art that had captured his attention – It had the same color. Without looking down he knew then that his boss’ new watch reminded him of Mycroft’s pocket watch. The book he saw in the shop? A copy of Narnia that he and Mycroft had talked about at their last dinner. And the canned lights above Mycroft’s head shone on the ginger hairs of the hirsute man’s forearms. Hair the bright ginger color of the victim’s wife Donovan interviewed.
…Oh
“Gregory?” Mycroft broke the silence. “Are you well?”
He called...
He started to say I saw something today, and it made me think of you, but stopped himself just in time.
...and I came running...
It was then Greg realized these were not one-off occurrences at all. He has been seeing the man in seemingly random things, not just that day, but for quite a while.
...without batting an eye...
Oh shit…
“I’m fine – shall we…?” Greg quickly turned, walked to the chairs, sat, and poured himself a much-needed drink.
He called and here I am…
In a moment of shocking clarity, Gregory Lestrade understood something else:
I’m in love with Mycroft Holmes and I absolutely cannot tell him.
OH SHIT!
@mystradepromptsandscenarios
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You Will See Me {Mycroft Holmes x Female!Reader Oneshot}
Requested by: Anonymous
Wordcount: 4277
Summary: The last time you saw Mycroft, you had your heart broken. What happens when you’re confronted by him again?
Notes: Not a happy ending.
It had been a long time since you had seen Holmes come up on your cellphone. Years, actually. You couldn’t remember the last time that one of those boys had any reason to call you. Mycroft, that bloody bastard, was off being the Queen’s hand or something like that, running the government from the inside. And then there was Sherlock, who was always in the papers for something or other, solving a case. You had nothing to do with either of their worlds anymore. And they had nothing to do with yours since the incident. There’s always a goddamn incident, isn’t there?
And yet, for some reason, you had kept both of their numbers in your phone. You haven’t texted, you haven’t called, you’ve skipped past them in your contacts multiple times without giving them thought. You were sure that Sherlock could tell you the reason why, though you couldn’t. He knew everything, especially about you. That’s what best friends did. They knew each other, they took care of one another. Although brother trumps best friend, and a brother is always on a brother’s side.
You thought about not answering Sherlock’s call. It was obviously a mistake of some sort. And if it wasn’t - bad news, surely. Something like a funeral invitation. No, no, Sherlock would have just sent something like that in the post. He wasn’t the personal sort. Knowing that it was going to bother you until you found out that it was a butt-dial, you answered it, keeping your tone as neutral as possible. “Hello?”
“Ahh, good, so you’re not that busy then,” Sherlock said, curt as ever. No hello, no greeting, just straight to what he is deducing from you. You hated when he did that. And you hated when he was correct because it was your one day off from work this week, and you were intending to spend it doing the ever-blissful nothing at all. The most action that you had taken today was getting out of bed and moving to your sofa, turning on the telly and making yourself a nice cup of tea. “Can you join me this evening?”
“I just want to make sure that you have the right number,” You said, leaning back against your cushions. “This is y/n, not John, or whoever it is that you are ordering around at this moment. Would that be all of Scotland Yard now?”
“Yes, I’d say it’s about all,” Sherlock said, and you could imagine his face getting a little smug at the admission. He did enjoy showing off how superior his intellect was, and using it as some sort of power trip. You put up with it in the past, but you haven’t had to in quite some time. It was more annoying and irksome than you remembered. “But I did call the right person, I don’t make amateur mistakes like that. You didn’t answer my question. Can you join me this evening?” And just as you were attempting to think up some sort of excuse, he added on, “Don’t come up with a lie. You know I’ll know if you do.”
“Fine,” You groaned in a very non-adult way. If you were going to be dragged into whatever it is, you had every right to act petulant. “Yes. I can join you this evening - depending on what we are doing. I’m not a detective, and I really don’t want to see any dead bodies -”
“I know you’re not. You used to get sick at the thought of maggots, you’d never be able to handle seeing them on a corpse,” He said, so matter-of-factly. “No bodies. Unless you are objecting to the animal kind. I was thinking dinner. Bring a guest, if you like. If you have one.”
The thought of Sherlock with a fishing pole came into your mind, wearing wellies because oh the man was fishing. You weren’t in any sort of mood to tell him that you had no boyfriend, no girlfriend, no partner of any kind. You debated on bringing a friend. Surely, Sherlock was going to be bringing John Watson with him. None of your friends would get along with Sherlock - it would be like mixing oil and vinegar together and expecting them to fuse.
“Dinner at your expense I hope?” You questioned.
“Yes,” He said, sounding annoyed for the first time in the conversation. That made you grin. That lightened up your mood a little. That irritation that you could drag out of him without getting insulted the way that everyone else did.
“Then absolutely. I’ll see you at dinner.”
--
As you attempted to pick out a dress from your closet - Sherlock had given you the address of a rather upscale place, a fancy steakhouse that was way above your budget on an ordinary day - you thought back to the last time that you had seen the Holmes boys. Years ago. Almost two decades. You were wearing a dress that was much like the one that you were picking out now - so you quickly returned it. The color red was gorgeous but it held so many negative emotions now. And then you decided - sod it. You weren’t going to let the color be ruined just because Mycroft had hurt you when you had worn it once. None of what had happened was Sherlock’s fault, and now that he had reached out, you weren’t going to take it out on him anymore.
You stepped into the dress, then pulled it up around your figure. It fit perfectly. It highlighted what you wanted to highlight and it hid what you wanted it to hide. As you looked in the mirror, you really came to grips with the fact that you weren’t the same young, naive woman that you had been when you last were around the Holmes. Your hair might be the same color that it was then, your eyes were still the same shade, but you had a few gray hairs now, a few small wrinkles. You were a professional with a career, not a student at college. The outer differences were slight but everything inside was completely was different. You had confidence. You had experience. You had -
The trauma of being in love with Mycroft Holmes.
Nope, nope, you weren’t going to go there. You were going to smooth the dress over yourself and put on small touches of make up so that you looked like a million bucks when you walked into that restaurant. Like you belonged there. Like you were completely happy to see an old friend and there was nothing at all mortifying about this. A touch of lipstick, swipes of mascara, putting earrings on, all while trying to keep your cool, all while trying not to think about the past but about what this could mean for the future.
Shoes, check. Purse, check. A black-cab waiting outside of your flat to zoom you through the London streets towards the restaurant, check. Time to go.
No matter how much you tried, you couldn’t get Mycroft out of your head now. Sherlock had just brought it all coming back. All of the memories, all of the feelings that you had been burying for so long. Hurt always bubbles up to the surface. That’s what it does. Once a wound is reopened, the scar tissues takes even longer to make it heal. Even the passing streetlights coming on as dusk started to make the sky darker, turning it into a shade of indigo. How many evenings like this had you spent wasting your youth on a man that had been stringing you along? On one that didn’t love you? Too many. Way too many.
You grew up with the Holmes brothers. You were the same age as Sherlock, and Mycroft was the cool, smooth older brother. You grew up across the street from them, and unlike a lot of the other children in the neighborhood, you weren’t scared off by their intellect and naturally cold demeanor. You knew from the start that there was a warmth underneath there, you just had to stick around for the ice to melt. You might not have been as smart as them, and sometimes it was difficult to catch up to a lot of what they said but you showed an eagerness to learn. They appreciated that. They started to enjoy teaching you, not just calling you an idiot for it like they did the other kids.
Instead of hopscotch and football, it was crossword puzzles and University Challenge. It was a lot of reading outside with Mycroft while waiting for Sherlock to finish his violin lessons. That’s what you always liked about Mycroft. He didn’t have to sit out here and hang out with you. Most people didn’t do that with their kid brother’s friends. But he seemed genuinely interested in what you were reading, asking questions, telling you more information than what was in the book, always amazing you with how much stayed inside of his head. Even when high school was finished with, and you moved on to a college while Mycroft went to Cambridge, he stayed in touch with you. A little too in touch.
You met up for dinner one night. You had expected him to bring his surly brother along but no, it was just the two of you, at a rather nice Italian restaurant that you had always said you wanted to go to but could never afford. The kind with real breadsticks on the table, not ones out of a box. Where the waiters had uniforms and not just a dirty t-shirt with a washed out logo on it. He treated you to dinner, and a cheeky glass of wine, and listened to - or seemed to - you talk about your annoying dormmate and the lame parties that you had been invited to go to. He eventually got around to asking you if there was anyone interesting that you were seeing on campus. You found it hard to believe that he asked something so personal. He never asked about other friends, let alone boyfriends. The question made you nearly choke on your wine. He was there with a napkin which you gladly used to blot at your mouth.
“Oh um - well, there is one bloke I’ve been talking to a little bit, his name is Kevin, he’s really nice actually. He’s studying-”
“Oh, Kevin,” Mycroft said, the snobby voice starting to take effect. Oh yes, he had that since you two were children as well. There was no getting rid of it, as annoying as it sometimes could be. “Pedestrian name. Has he ever taken you to a place like this?”
You looked around, and had to admit that no. Kevin really hadn’t taken you to a place like this. “He hasn’t taken me to a restaurant, actually,” You admitted. “We went to a party, the one that I was just telling you about. But then he went to his friends and I went to mine...”
“Doesn’t sound much like a gentleman,” Mycroft mused. “If I were to go to a party with you, though I do find the idea of a party to be degrading and below the both of us, I wouldn’t leave your side. Especially not to go and talk to the sort of people that I’m sure that he considers friends.”
You continued sipping on your wine despite the fact that you were feeling rather confused. "Are you telling me that you want me to bring you to one of the college parties? I can’t even picture it,” You laughed. “But you do have a point. His friends are definitely chavs. I try not to speak to them really but-”
“No, I’m most certainly not asking to go to one of those depraved get-togethers,” He scoffed. “What I am trying to say is that you deserve someone who is not going to walk off once there are other options of people to talk to. Why, I’ve always found conversation with you to be quite stimulating. The person that you deem as your equal, as someone worthy of being in a flirtation with, let alone a relationship, should be seeking you out at a party. That is what I’m saying.”
Was it hot in the restaurant or was it just you? “A compliment from Mycroft Holmes. I can hardly believe it,” You chuckled over your wine, holding it in front of your face. “And one involving a party no less. Well thank you, Mycroft. I appreciate it. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Will you?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. “I do hope so. We’ve known each other all of these years and still keep in touch. You must know how rare that is for me. I do believe the word is ... captivated.”
That’s all it took. That’s all that it took for you to stop seeing Mycroft as just Sherlock’s brother, and as someone beguiling. The strawberry blonde hair that curled just above one eye, just short enough not to be annoying but also just long enough to get him a step away from the squeaky clean boy image that he had. You spent night after night with him, doing things that you wouldn’t regularly do. Sneaking onto the Cambridge campus for film nights, and then holding onto his arm as he walked you back to the bus stop, laughing about the historical inaccuracies. Walking past protests that were happening against Thatcher and talking about it. You sneakily pinned a ‘Down with Thatcher’ pin onto his jacket. Despite the fact that he would have realized quite early on that it was there, it wasn’t taken off until he switched jackets for the season.
Then there was that night. That dark and fateful night, as a gothic novelist might put it. Where you put your favorite red dress on, with matching rouge upon your cheeks and lipstick upon your mouth, your best pair of heels and stars in your eyes. Stars and hearts both. This was going to be the night when you were going to tell Mycroft Holmes that you had fallen in love with him. This is the night where you were going to go back to the restaurant where he first paid you those compliments that you did keep in your mind, right at the front of it, repeating those words to yourself again and again whenever you had some alone time. Touching yourself to them. Quite stimulating indeed. You were going to confess your love and he would do the same and you would kiss, shamelessly. You would share a tiramisu dessert, noting that he quite enjoyed sweets.
That’s where the good ended. Right when you walked into the restaurant. Up until then, everything had been sublime. You even had been complimented by a couple of people on the subway. And not just leering perverted comments either. You looked lovely, you looked great, where did you get that dress, someone is going to have a good night. You were feeling it. And you had been trying to chase that confidence ever since.
“Ma’am?” The cab driver asked, bringing you out of your reverie. “We’re here.”
“Thank you,” You said, gathering yourself. You paid him with a hefty tip and then got out, and stood in front of the steakhouse. It was just Sherlock, surely. And John. And a chance to have a good meal on someone else’s dime, never anything wrong with that.
Shoulders back and stand up tall. There were workers right there at the doors who opened them with a greeting and a friendly smile which you returned. You gave your name to the host and he immediately brought you towards a table in the back. You smiled to yourself when you saw Sherlock’s messy head of curls. Some things would never change. The more that people tried to tell him to cut it, the longer he let it grew, until it annoyed only himself. The little rebel. And John, of course, whose blog you’ve perused once or twice - shorter than you imagined but pleasant nonetheless.
What did Sherlock need? He got straight to the point, or rather he did in his own sort of way. There was a lot of information being thrown at you but you remembered enough from your friendship days to sort through it and find what was important. An art piece had been stolen. He didn’t care much about art. But since you had gone to the college of the arts ... he needed your help. He wouldn’t say so upfront, but the way that he spoke made you feel like you were obligated to help him.
“It could be a homophobic attack,” You said, stroking your chin. “The artist was known to have some close male friends. Or it could have something to do with the Nazis. Everything always comes down to them but art theft - they hid so many masterpieces from the world, and some had yet to be discovered. This piece that was stolen is one of the recovered pieces. It could be some deranged supremacist trying to regain the lost collection.”
“Ahh, speaking of supremacist,” Sherlock said, his eyes now gazing above your head. A shadow had come over you, darkening your plate, your glass. You knew who it was by the silhouette.
“Apologies for being late - I didn’t wish to come,” Mycroft’s voice rang, as snobby as ever. It was such a him answer to give. You wish that you had thought of it. You were finding yourself wishing that you hadn’t come either, despite enjoying yourself a few moments prior, remembering why you and Sherlock had been friends in the first place. He walked around without greeting you, or even seeming to notice you - up until he sat across from you at the table. Whoever he might have been expecting to be sitting there, it wasn’t you, and for the first time, you saw surprise gleam across his eyes. And then - was that guilt? You could only hope so.
You were pleased to see that he had aged. That helped you a small bit. In your mind, he stayed in his early twenties, but here he was now, his hair thinning, hairline receding, wrinkles and all. It would have been better if he wasn’t still handsome despite this, but beggers can’t be choosers.
“Miss y/l/n,” Mycroft said, his voice raising as if he were asking a question more than a greeting. You decided not to respond, turning your head towards Sherlock, and bade him to continue, which he did without delay. Get him talking about a case and he can go on for hours. You attempted to enjoy your meal, all while trying your utmost not to look across from you but it was so damn hard. Seeing Mycroft hit you like a truck. It brought back all of those unpleasant memories.
--
You had walked into the restaurant, eager and ready. You thought that perhaps ... just maybe... this would be one of the best nights of your life. Mycroft, your partner, had admitted that he had been hiding something and was ready to come clean. You and your girl friends thought this meant that he was going to tell you that he loves you. You wore your best outfit, you had gotten your hair done, your make up was perfect. You were going to open your heart once he did and say those three words back.
You loved him, you loved him, you loved him. The way that he was so smooth. So debonair. So ambitious. He was going places. You were so proud of him for all of it. Every contact that he made, who he’d tell you about, getting excited like a child because he shook the hand of someone in parliament. He opened doors for you, he would ask you what you wanted at a restaurant and then order it for you, he’d send you flowers when you did well on an exam.
That wasn’t what it was at all. You were having your heart broken. Decimated. Crushed beyond recognition.
An experiment. For school. That’s what this whole thing had been. He’d been studying the psychology of romantic couples, and what better way was there to study than be a part of one himself? He proudly showed you the marks that he had gotten, the stacks of notes in case you wanted to read them over. He had only done a good job because he had a good partner. Well done. Cheerio. Claps all around.
You couldn’t breathe. You felt like you were drowning, you just wanted to flail, to kick, to pull yourself up into the air but you were also terrified of making a scene in the restaurant, of having everyone look at you and know immediately that you were nothing more than a grade, not good for anything else. Wasted time, wasted effort, wasted love.
“Excuse me,” You said, throwing your napkin down on your half-finished meal and you departed. You didn’t go to the bathroom, you walked home. All fourteen blocks. Your heels clicked and clacked against the London streets, and you hadn’t paid any attention to anyone who walked past you. You think, perhaps, someone had asked you if you were alright? But you weren’t. You just kept walking until your feet hurt, and then you took off your shoes, carried them in your hands, and kept on walking. You had dropped one. You got home with only one of them but you didn’t care. You dropped into your bed and stayed there for two full days.
Mycroft tried to call a couple of times. You kept the phone off the hook. He tried to call some of your friends, but after they had found out what had happened, they said such scathing things that he hadn’t dared to call again. A part of you was hoping that he would show up at your dorm, or at one of your classes and tell you that he knew he had made a mistake, but that was not something that a Holmes would ever do. As far as you knew, he had never showed up.
Time went on, life went on, but you never forgot the pain. You never forgot Mycroft. You tried to go on dates with other men, your friends setting you up, dating apps, people from work, but it never felt right. If they didn’t open the doors for you, or offer to order for you, it felt like you weren’t being treated quite right. If they did do those things, since there are still gentlemen left in the world, you couldn’t trust that there was some ulterior motive. That this was a study. A joke. Nothing ever got past a first date. A spinster by twenty-five.
--
You hated how much you looked at him while you were trying not to. Out of the corner of your eye, there he was. In the reflection of your knife. Of your wineglass. Every time that you heard his voice, you remembered the sweet nights, the old dates. The conversations that lasted for hours. You tried to focus on what Sherlock was saying, but it felt impossible. You were trying to overcome that feeling of drowning again. Trying to keep in control and not just walk out like you had the last time.
But when it came down to it, you were still just help in a study. Whether it was for school, or for a case, it was all the same.
When the waiter came around with the bill, you jumped at the chance to leave at an appropriate time. You went through your purse, dug out some notes, and put them onto the table. “Well, gentlemen, it has been a lovely evening.” Your voice was shaky, giving you away. You did your best to ignore that. Pretend it didn’t happen. Pretend a lot of this didn’t happen, for your own sake. “I’m glad you have been of help, and I hope all goes well.”
“So you do still love him,” Sherlock said, making all eyes at the table, including yours, turn to him. And then six were right back on you.
“P-pardon?” You asked, hoping you heard him incorrectly.
“You’re flushed, your palms are sweaty,” Sherlock started to list.
“It’s warm in here.”
“Your voice went higher once he came in-”
“Did not.”
“The complete and utter avoidance while you were still mirroring his movements,”
“We’re at a restaurant, everyone is eating here...”
“And you’ve been fidgeting for the past half hour,” Sherlock finished.
“How do you know I don’t just fidget all of the time?” You argued.
“Pardon, I forgot becoming defensive.”
You couldn’t take anymore. You finally looked right over to Mycroft. Stared into his blue-gray eyes. And then yours narrowed. “I’ll never forgive what you did to me, Mycroft Holmes. Not for any of it.”
And you stood up then. No one tried to stop you this time around. Sherlock didn’t have anything witty to say, or if he did, it blended in with the rest of the noise of the restaurant. You took your leave. You stepped out into the gloomy London evening, raised your arm and fetched yourself a cab. You got into it slowly, situating yourself, looking towards the door of the restaurant, hoping and also dreading that he might come out. That Mycroft is going to run out and apologize and grovel at your feet. No. He didn’t happen. So you gave your address to the patient cab driver and made your way home.
At least you had both shoes on this time.
#Mycroft Holmes#Mycroft Holmes x reader#Mycroft Homes oneshot#Sherlock#Sherlock oneshot#BBC Sherlock#BBC Sherlock oneshot#oneshot#one shot#x reader#request#mycroft#mycrofts
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Top 10 Portrayals of Mycroft Holmes
In my last couple lists for the supporting cast of Sherlock Holmes, I discussed two of his closest allies: Mrs. Hudson and Inspector Lestrade. It’s now time for another of his allies, though perhaps the most begrudging of them all: his elder brother, Mycroft Holmes.
Mycroft is an intriguing character, because there are essentially two completely different ways to portray him. In the original books, Mycroft is declared to be even smarter than Sherlock is, which is already quite interesting. What makes him even more fascinating, however, is the reveal of his career: Mycroft “IS the British Government.” He’s the head of political and military intelligence, his power seemingly second only to the Prime Minister and the Royal Family themselves. With so much power and brilliance, one would expect Mycroft to be a rather imposing figure…but in Conan Doyle’s stories, the character is actually depicted a sort of comical figure. Mycroft is a sort of stereotypical, pompous bureaucrat in the books; like Sherlock, he’s a trifle eccentric, as well as rather pompous and slightly foppish in demeanor. The humor comes from his blustering attitude and exaggerated rotundity, which are completely at odds with the potential for something more dangerous when you realize what and who he really is.
As a result of this dichotomy, different reimaginings and adaptations of Mycroft tend to gravitate more towards one side or the other: some versions play the character very much in the Conan Doyle vein, as a comically uppercrust caricature. Others, however, have focused much more on his political prowess, making him a much more serious character, with the humor stemming now from his dandy manners and the relationship he has with his brother. In the books, Sherlock and Mycroft have a SLIGHT sibling rivalry, but they actually seem to get along fairly well; most reinterpretations, however, really play up that rivalry and have the two constantly at each other’s throats…but when push comes to shove, that brotherly love still shines through.
With so many different ways to handle Mycroft, choosing my favorites was rather difficult: this duality to the character and the way he’s been portrayed means that he is both easy to mess up and yet hard to mess up at the same time, if you can imagine such a paradox. I think, however, that the choices I’ve made are more or less finite, though a few may rise or fall on the scale depending on my mood, more than anything else. With that said, here are My Top 10 Portrayals of Mycroft Holmes!
10. Rhys Ifans, from Elementary.
It took me a while to warm up to this version of Mycroft, but ultimately I did come to like him. In here, instead of being the head of British intelligence, Mycroft is simply an AGENT of said intelligence: he’s essentially this universe’s version of James Bond, a suave and classy spy for MI6, who works under the facade of a restauranteur. While I do have a few issues with this take on the character, overall I think it’s an interesting one; a big part of what makes him good comes from Ifans’ acting.
9. Robert Morley, from A Study in Terror.
This Mycroft COULD have been in my Top 5, at the very least, if he had a larger role. Morley is probably the most book-accurate take on Mycroft ever, but he’s only in the film for a couple of short minutes, and…well…frankly, he has absolutely NO purpose to be in the story at all. I feel like someone just included him BECAUSE they wanted to see Robert Morley play this character, and…fair play to them, I suppose, I’m glad it happened. I just wish he had more of a reason to be there, and more screentime in his pocket.
8. Peter Jeffrey, from Hands of a Murderer.
In this period remake of “The Woman in Green” (one of the Basil Rathbone films), Jeffrey’s Mycroft ends up being kidnapped by Professor Moriarty, who is seeking information he wishes to sell to enemy agents. (Which actually sounds similar to a completely different Rathbone movie, “Sherlock Holmes and the Secret Weapon,” but I digress.) While his role is relatively peripheral, I enjoy Jeffrey’s work with the character, and they really play around wonderfully with the relationship between the two brothers.
7. Richard E. Grant, from Sherlock: Case of Evil.
While Mycroft’s role in this film is small, his presence is important: it’s revealed that part of the reason he is such a reclusive figure is because he was captured and tortured by Moriarty (after the previous pick, I’m sensing a pattern) during Sherlock’s first encounter with his arch-nemesis. Mycroft’s brain is as sharp as ever, but his body still bears scars. This is one of the most supportive takes on the character out there, and Grant plays him very well.
6. Boris Klyuyev, from The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes & Dr. Watson.
Arguably one of the funniest versions of Mycroft, in my opinion. This Russian-made TV film series used Mycroft fairly often, and he was always fun to see in action, really leaning into the comedy of the character from the original stories, and even doing a few new things with him, such as having him help Mrs. Hudson during “The Tiger Hunt” (their adaptation of “The Empty House”). Very, very amusing to watch.
5. The Version from Moriarty the Patriot.
This version takes some obvious cues from the rendition from “Sherlock,” portraying Mycroft as a more traditionally handsome, limber fellow, and really emphasizing his power as “the very embodiment of the British government.” However, he’s a much “warmer” character than the BBC version, which I think helps make him stand out, and gives him a little more of the humor that was present in the original stories. In Japan, he's voiced by Hiroki Yasumoto; the English dub is played by "Black Butler" star himself, J. Michael Tatum.
4. Stephen Fry, from the Guy Ritchie Films.
Mycroft appears in the second film, “Game of Shadows,” in another case of a “small but important” sort of role. Some of the funniest scenes in the film are thanks to him, and he’s also important in terms of the movie’s climax and conclusion. Fry is a shockingly book-accurate take on the character for the modern era, both in appearance and portrayal, and I think that’s a big part of why I like him. For all the things these films did differently from Conan Doyle, Mycroft almost feels ripped straight out of the pages.
3. Christopher Lee, from The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes.
Lee was the first “serious” Mycroft, depicting the character as a more athletic and icy sort of character. This is ironic, since “The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes” is mostly rather comedic in nature, although it does have its hard edges. With that said, while he is a bit more dramatic than earlier interpretations, he still has a lot of humorous bits and moments. Plus, it’s Christopher Lee: of COURSE he’s awesome.
2. Mark Gatiss, from Sherlock.
Gatiss not only plays Mycroft in the series, but is also one of its chief creators. As if the guy needed MORE power. This version rather famously plays up Mycroft as a very, VERY authoritarian figure: much colder and more mean-spirited than almost any other interpretation. At times, he’s more of an antagonist than a protagonist in the show. However, he does still have a heart hidden under his dictatorial ways, a fact that’s made clear literally from the start of the series, and does help Sherlock out in various ways throughout the show. I was sorely tempted to make him number one…hopefully the person I chose instead won’t disappoint.
1. Charles Gray, from the Granada Series.
Gray first played the character in the film “The Seven Per-Cent Solution,” but it’s the Granada series (with Jeremy Brett as his younger brother) that I REALLY recognize him for. Alongside Robert Morley (and possibly Stephen Fry), I would argue that this is the most book-accurate take on Mycroft there’s ever been. I love how even though he is depicted as the generally more lighthearted figure from the original stories, he’s not played up as a caricature or a cartoon, and can be serious when the moment calls for it. The show even had two episodes where Mycroft took the place of each of the Baker Street gang, with one episode teaming him up with his brother, and another teaming him up with Watson. Gatiss may be more recognizable nowadays, but for me, Gray IS Mycroft, just as Brett IS Sherlock and Colin Jeavons IS Lestrade, plain and simple.
#list#countdown#top 10#best#favorites#actors#acting#tv#film#movies#animation#sherlock holmes#mycroft#mycroft holmes#sherlock#elementary#moriarty the patriot#case of evil#hands of a murderer#a study in terror#the private life of sherlock holmes
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I really want to know about 13.
This is just chapter 13 of Love, In All Its Disrepute, which kind of accidentally went on a back burner because I got attacked by plot bunnies for oneshots.
In which Albert is in a bad mood:
"At least he’d spent the better part of the day happily distracted by spending time with William and Louis, having promised to take them sightseeing. It’s been a while since the two of them spent any significant time in London, and they had happily whiled away hours exploring shops and museums with Albert simply reveling in their enjoyment. That had been distracting enough for a time. Now it’s evening, and the negotiators have gathered at the Moriarty manor. Albert only grows gloomier the longer he goes without finding an opportunity to pull Mycroft aside. He won’t be settled until Mycroft tells him he can be. The realization of that does nothing to improve his mood. The further realization that Mycroft is intentionally avoiding being alone with him, teasing, tips him from sulking straight into fuming."
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MTP Masterlist
William James Moriarty x Reader:
The Accidental Miscarriage
Brother Trouble
Detention
Protection
36 Weeks
Honeymoon Lovers
Period Struggles
Jumping Into His Arms
Being Jealous of Your Friend
NSFW Alphabet
Gone During Labor
The Hate Is Getting To Him
Headcanons
Mood Swings (Period)
Pirate AU
Scarred Eye Headcanons
Scarred Eye Headcanons pt. 2
Albert James Moriarty x Reader:
London Times
Inseparable
SFW Alphabet
Birthday Special
Brotherly Help (Platonic)
Louis James Moriarty x Reader:
Wedding Surprise
Sherlock Holmes x Reader:
Let's Talk About Marriage
Let's Talk About Marriage pt. 2
Let's Talk About Marriage (Full)
Mycroft Holmes:
It's your fiancée or your job.
It's your fiancée or your job (pt. 2)
Mycroft Stands Up For You
NSFW Alphabet
Break up pt. 1
Break Up pt. 2
NSFW Headcanons
James Bond:
Amusement Park Date
Art Inspiration
Moriarty Brothers:
Besties
William Headcanons
Albert Headconons
Sleeping Habits
Sherlock and Mycroft Sibling Headcanons:
Part One
Part Two
Multiple Character:
Y/N's eating disorder (Bond, Fred, Louis)
Comfort (Moriarty Brothers and Bond)
Cutting Your Hair (Bond, William, Louis)
NSFW Questions
Smash or Pass (Louis, Moran, Albert)
Mother's Day Specials:
Sebastian
Mycroft
Albert
Louis
Sherlock
William
Father's Day:
Mycroft's Daddy Kink
#moriarty the patriot#yuukoku no moriarty#yuumori#ynm#moriarty the patriot x reader#moriarty anime#ynm william#william james moriarty#mtp x reader#mtp
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