#((221B found family my absolute BELOVED))

[abyssembraced]

Back at it again with More

I think this is gonna be my last one though, at least for now

[vulpesmellifera]

Fic Offerings of 2019

Ahhhh!!! I can’t believe the end of 2019 is here!

My goal at the beginning of 2019? Post six short stories and start posting one long fic. Instead, I posted 15 stories of varying length, and wrote the long fic, (two long fics, in fact), but it needs some attention I wasn’t really willing to give it in 2019.

And I’m okay with that. 

I expected to write Mystrade, and I ended up writing that plus Sherstrade, Johnlock, and Hannigram. 

Mystrade: The Longer Fics

The Tenth Muse - Two parts comprise this work, with 27,605 words between them. Mycroft sees things other people can’t. Lights, spectres, shades, demons, phantasms, and creatures that no one else can see. Voices no one else can hear. Colours eddying around people’s bodies, visible only to his eyes. It isn't deduction for Mycroft; it's a living nightmare that leads to self-imposed isolation. When Sherlock "dies," Mycroft finds himself reaching out for a golden slice of happiness, just one person to call his own in a landscape of horrors.

(On a lark, an absolute lark, I tell you, I wrote The Tenth Muse. In no way did I expect the reception it got, and I thank every one of you who read it, and left a kudos or a comment, from the bottom of my heart.) 

Craquelure - Two parts, 44,172 words. Part 1, To Capture Light, was actually posted in December of 2018. Part 2, Shaping the Negative, was posted this year, and takes up soon after where the first part left off. Mycroft Holmes had everything in hand: a powerful position in civil service to the Crown with the ability to affect politics across the globe, an impeccable taste in modern luxuries, and an iron-clad philosophy on life and how one should live it. He didn't expect it to shatter around him in a series of events facilitated by his siblings.This is the story of his rebirth.

(The reception to this one also included personal family stories from readers, and I treasure every one of you, particularly those among us who have suffered toxic family relationships, and have found our way out or above them. Part 3, The Hue of Loss, planned for 2020!)

Mystrade: The Shorter Fics

Woes of the Pharynx - Sickfic. Fluff. Humor. 844 words. The British Government felled by a cold. Oh, who could possibly take care of him?

The Petal Painter - Part of the #MystradeStoryTime series. Each part stands alone. 1,897 words. Gregorios is the beloved son of the Grain Goddess, safe and treasured inside her gardens. One day, he meets an alluring stranger dressed in black.

Marry Me - Part of the #MystradeStoryTime series. Each part stands alone. 1,684 words. Mycroft doesn't care for marriage; it's a vestigial organ on a modern society. Greg cares about marriage. Yet, he's never brought it up with Mycroft. That begins to chafe at the civil servant.

Sun-Bleached - Part of The Songs of Solomon series. Each part stands alone. 2,154 words. Sherlock would find curious things: the dried exoskeletons of crustaceans, hollowed out shells of mollusks, and one time, the sun-bleached bones of a little bird that usually nested along rivers. Alcedo atthis, the common kingfisher. That image never quite left my mind. Sherlock’s face like a bright beacon on an overcast day, the skeletonized remains of a bird that waved with his movements, held between two fingers. This is how I want Greg Lestrade: pinched between two fingers, a flag in the breeze, unshielded from the elements of me.

With Appetite - Part 2 of Imperfections Can Be Loved. Can stand alone. 2,937 words. Sometimes when he thinks of that fat little boy, he is reminded of the monster Charybdis. She was a fleshy thing with a gargantuan maw who was chained to the rocks on one side of a strait. She waited for passing ships, sucking down her prey in a voracious whirlpool before her neighbour Scylla snatched up too many of the sailors. He doesn’t have to wonder what it is, to be a despised thing that aches with appetite. Mycroft Holmes is a proud man, particularly when it comes to his work and his massive intellect. But for his new fiance, he thinks he can do better in terms of appearances.

Night of the Grey Mare - Christmas Fic with a touch of horror. 8,606 words. Every Christmas Eve, Mycroft visits the Watson-Holmes family to deliver a story to his precious niece, and share in a little of the mulled wine. This year, Rosie wants to hear something scary. Mycroft tells her a frightening tale of The Christmas Witch, and then takes his leave before Sherlock and John can enact their usual routine to make him feel unwelcome.The way home is fraught with unforeseen events and Mycroft soon finds himself in his own frightening tale of horror. Or does he?

Pillow Fights - Humorous ficlet. 821 words. Mycroft returns home early from a business trip to surprise Greg. Greg isn't the only one who gets surprised.

Pillow Fights, Redux - A different take, still a humorous ficlet. 952 words. Greg gets back early from a conference, to find Mycroft pining in a way he would never have thought.

Sherstrade 

[Deleted] - 10,400 words. Greg Lestrade and John Watson awake to find themselves locked in an unfinished basement. While they are well acquainted with one another, the two men aren't friends. But, the darkness has ways of bringing people closer together. Meanwhile, Sherlock and Sally must work together to solve the case of a missing John Watson.They're running out of time.

Johnlock 

Haunted -  Horror Fic. 22,369 words. Plagued by the past, John moves himself and his daughter to a new flat for a fresh start - and it's not 221B Baker Street. While he grapples with new knowledge and old guilt, he's confronted with odd neighbors and strange noises in the night. But is it the new flat, or is John Watson losing his grip on reality?

The Stars Upon Your Back - Part 1 of Imperfections Can Be Loved. 1,735 words. Sherlock prefers shadows to sunlight, his coat collar popped and his scarf wrapped about his neck like a hug. He wears bespoke because he’s trim, but he prefers to feel covered, and wears the dressing gown more often than not. The first time John Watson kisses him, he’s stricken. Sherlock Holmes is painfully aware of his ugly parts and his failures when it comes to John Watson.

Hannigram

Leftovers - Post-Canon Domestic Fluff. Basically, this is my headcanon for what Hannibal does with his leftovers. 1,311 words.  Will discovers that Hannibal has a soft spot for one other kind of creature in his life.

Aaaaannnnddd that’s all she wrote, folks! (Well, not all...but everything that got posted!) A Happy New Year to everyone! <3

Cheers,

Vulpes

[notagarroter]

Shopping

Eurus eventually did start speaking again, which was hailed by the Sherrinford doctors as a major therapeutic breakthrough.  They met with her every day after that, and soon enough they all agreed that she was completely reformed and could be released to the care of her family.  

Mummy and Father were delighted, of course, and Mycroft apparently thought it best to go along with the official story.  Sherlock, for his part, had his doubts about the sincerity of his sister's rehabilitation, but he decided to keep them to himself.  It would only worry John, and anyway, with Moriarty definitely dead and Mycroft on his best behavior, Sherlock had recently found himself without an arch-nemesis, which was a sad state of affairs for the world's only consulting detective.  Eurus might at least liven things up a bit. 

The only problem was, Eurus wasn't being very lively at all.  She had moved into 221b a week ago, but seemed a bit intimidated by the idea of navigating the world without the protection of a false persona.  Instead, she mostly lay around the flat in her pyjamas, flicking idly through the television channels and ordering delivery in a variety of funny voices. Sherlock had had enough.  

"Could you at least change your clothes?  You've been wearing that for days now."

"I have not," declared Eurus, insulted.  "I change my clothes every morning.  It's just that they all look the same."

"Yes, institutional white doesn't really suit you.  I think it's time to branch out."

"I suppose I could borrow your shirts and trousers..." she offered.

"Not what I had in mind. Here," said Sherlock, pulling out his bank card.  "Take this and go shopping."

"Where?  I've spent my life in an institution, I'm not exactly familiar with all the London shops."

Sherlock paced the sitting room with his hands pressed to his lips in prayer-form, considering.  "Where did you get your clothes for your alternate identities, back when you were seducing John and pretending to be my client?"

"Oh, that.  I strangled people."

Sherlock stopped his pacing and turned to his sister.  "Really?  Did you kill them?"

"Well, I didn't bother checking for a pulse, but I presume so."

He cast her a sidelong look and resumed pacing.  "You must really hate shopping."

"Maybe if I didn't have to do it alone...  " Eurus suggested.  "You could come with me.  Or we could visit your tailor."

Sherlock scoffed.  "I don't know anything about women's clothes, and neither does my tailor."

"What about your friend, then?  Molly Hooper."

"Molly?  The one whose house you broke into, placed cameras everywhere, and emotionally tortured?"

Eurus flicked her hair over one shoulder.  "Is she still upset about that? People can be so petty."

"Anyway, I absolutely forbid you to go shopping with Molly Hooper."

"Why?  She has lots of cute clothes.  I noticed when I was surveilling her."

Sherlock wrinkled his nose in disgust at the work 'cute'.  "Molly Hooper is a dear friend and a lovely woman, but you, Eurus, are a Holmes, and we must have standards.  I will not have a member of my family dressing like...  like that."  He gave a shudder and pulled out his phone.  "I have a different idea in mind," he said, dialing.  "Though I had hoped this could be avoided.  It's going to upset an extremely delicate balance, and I really hate when she's one up on me."

--------------------

The Woman turned out to be hiding out in Jakarta for some reason, but two days later she swept into the sitting room of 221b in a navy blue sheath and matching fur capelet.  John was sitting in his chair braiding Rosie's hair, while Eurus helped Sherlock tie up the loose ends from a unexpectedly intriguing counterfeiting case. Eurus looked up immediately and Sherlock could see from his sister's expression that she had registered Miss Adler's suitability as a shopping companion.

"You must be the patient," said the Woman, pulling Eurus from her chair and looking her over with an appraising eye.  "Not bad, not bad at all.  We'll have to burn this smock, of course, but there's a good figure, excellent posture.  I can work with this."

"I appreciate the favor," said Sherlock, "but you really didn't need to come such a long way for this."

Miss Adler's blood red lips spread into a smile.  "Oh, I wanted to, believe me.  I've felt like such an idiot ever since I heard your request."

"Why's that?"

"What's the first question every lesbian should ask when she meets a man who unexpectedly arouses her interest?"

Sherlock stared at her blankly.

"Oh, I know this," said John as he fiddled with his daughter's barrette. "'Do you have a sister?'"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and John shrugged.  "Harry used to ask all my rugby mates."

"A Holmes sister!" Irene exclaimed, clasping her hands together in devilish glee. "It's Christmas and my birthday all wrapped into one. Where have they been keeping you locked away all this time?"

Eurus hesitated.  "It's a long story."

The Woman raised her eyebrows.  

"It'd probably just bore you," said John.  "Unless you're desperately curious what really happened to Sherlock's beloved childhood dog."

"Oh dear, that does sound dreadfully dull.  Let's skip it."  The Woman slid an arm around Eurus's waist and tugged her close.  "Come, darling.  I'm thinking Balenciaga is your look—something with a bit of drama.  But first we need to address these split ends.  What do you think?  Are you up for a cut and color?"

Eurus's eyes shined with excitement.  "It sounds wonderful."

"Perfect.  I have a car waiting outside," said the Woman, guiding her toward the door.  

"Miss Adler," said Sherlock, pulling her back as Eurus set off down the stairs.  "Are you sure you're all right with this?"

"I'm delighted!  We're going to have ever so much fun."

She grinned wickedly and followed Eurus out.

"Well," said John, standing up with Rosie in his arms. "That's going to be weird."

"Indeed."

"Do you think you should warn Miss Adler?  About what happened to your sister's last sexual partner?"

"Oh, she knows.  I think it was part of the appeal, to be honest.  Miss Adler does love a challenge."