#Mycroft Holmes x oc

[rey-jake-therapist]

Sherlock fic: The One That Got Away: chapter 3

Chapter 3: "Splitting Hairs" of my Sherlock fic The One That Got Away is up!

Link AO3 ⬇️

Summary:

While Sherlock's investigation on the suicide case progresses and he acquires the conviction that it may have been assisted, John and Molly spend a lovely afternoon together at the park with Rosie. Too bad they're interrupted by a call from Greg Lestrade, who just made a very unsettling discovery in a hotel room booked by Ema Nymton, the mysterious woman who burglarized Harold Boltroy's house shortly before he died. Mrs Hudson offers John to rent the 221C Baker Street, so he and Rosie can live closer to Sherlock.

Excerpt, inspired by the February prompt 'FEAR' proposed by @sherlockchallenge :

Hearing only silence from his partner, Sherlock repeated John's name, only to be met with an echoing void—John's absence, a persistent reminder. For a time, Sherlock had tried living with Billy Wiggins, a promising young man he had found on the streets, but Billy had disappeared one day and never returned. Sherlock blamed himself for scaring him away, though he knew it was for the best considering that Billy’s interests were limited to drug taking; he had hoped to teach Billy everything he knew and turn him into a good detective, but it hadn't worked out. Now, Sherlock lived alone, and sometimes loneliness crept inside him like a cold wind. It left him feeling helpless against the voices inside his head that whispered for him to end it all. But every time those voices came, he stood up straight and refused to listen.

Someday, death would come for him, whether he wanted it or not. Like the man from Samarra, he had run away from it many times before. One day, however, it would catch up with him. There were people waiting for him behind Death's curtain, eagerly awaiting his explanation for why they suffered and died because of him. Despite knowing this, Sherlock was not afraid to die. He knew his career path would lead him to an early grave, but he didn't fear it.

The only thing that scared him was the thought that maybe the people who believed in an afterlife were right, and the ones who suffered and died because of him were really waiting for him behind Death's curtain, eager to hear his explanation for what happened to them. As Sherlock put on his coat in the lobby downstairs, a sad-looking face appeared before him, staring at him intently. Dazed for a moment, he closed his eyes and shook his head to send the vision back away to the darkest corners of his memory, where it belonged.

Just as he was going to call a cab, determined to visit the late Harold Boltroy's assistant alone, Sherlock's phone rang in his pocket. A light of joy flashed in his eyes as he saw the caller's name on the screen; it was Greg Lestrade, at last!

“Sherlock? I’ve got some news. Is John with you?”

Ships: Sherlock x OFC, John x Molly, Mycroft x OMC

TW for this chapter: brief thoughts of suicide are mentioned.

CW for this chapter: mentions of platonic Adlock and Sherlolly.

[qarl-grimes]

I’ve started updating Ophelia again (after a hiatus in which my writers block and real life hit me hard). I am going to try and update more often!

For those who haven’t read and want some Mycroft Holmes/OC action, pls give it a go here!

[writingriver001]

Art dump of my OC Penelope and slightly her husband, Mr Micrometre Holmes 💙 PART TWO

I only did part two because of the limit on pictures 😔

Part One

[anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek]

TEARING DOWN YOUR WALLS (MYCROFT HOLMES X OC!MORIARTY)

Alizon Moriarty, the elder sibling of the renowned consulting criminal, embodies a striking presence with matching hair colour and eyes reminiscent of their notorious counterpart. Yet, Alizon diverges distinctly, portraying a vibrant intellect intertwined with a refined sense of style. Despite their jovial demeanour, Alizon conceals a latent tendency toward psychopathy, a trait that surfaces only under specific triggers.

As the older sibling, Alizon occupies a position of authority within the government, surpassing even the esteemed Mycroft Holmes in rank. Identified as demi-gender, Alizon navigates their identity with grace and confidence, seamlessly balancing their professional obligations with personal complexities.

Mycroft Holmes, The epitome of governmental authority and intellectual prowess. With a demeanour that exudes cool, calculated control, Mycroft navigates the intricate web of political intrigue and criminal activity with unparalleled finesse. His towering intellect is matched only by his formidable presence, often depicted as a master manipulator behind the scenes.

Physically imposing yet possessing an understated elegance, Mycroft's sharp wit and encyclopaedic knowledge serve as formidable weapons in his arsenal. Clad in impeccably tailored suits that mirror his refined taste, he commands attention in any room he enters. Despite his enigmatic demeanour, Mycroft harbours a complex relationship with his younger brother, Sherlock Holmes, often oscillating between mentorship and exasperation in their interactions.

As these two formidable figures cross paths, the question arises: will the elder Moriarty and Holmes siblings become rivals akin to their notorious counterparts, or will they chart a course entirely different from their younger siblings' paths?

Read the story here

Masterlist of what I've written

[renx01]

Out of Sight - Part 5

General idea: Moriarty is your boss. After he helped you out of a precarious situation when you were still a minor, you started working for him. Now, he has a new job for you. Get close to the Holmes brothers to keep an eye on them for him. Pairings: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mycroft Holmes/Reader  & Jim Moriarty/Reader Fandom: BBC Sherlock Word count: 2006

Masterlist

The show was interesting to say the least, but you were happy when you finally managed to return to your flat. Keeping Sherlock from constantly over-explaining the acts to Sarah, who only got closer to John as the show continued. At some point Sherlock disappeared backstage, only reappearing by crashing into the auditorium with a warlord on top of him. John shooting out to help him as the audience scattered, you take Sarah out of the room. You’re followed by the two men, not too far behind you. 

On the way to the police station, Sherlock explains what he had been doing behind the scenes. He’d found the yellow paint moments before he’d been attacked by the warlord. He also notes that he had seen a tattoo on the bottom of the foot of one of the performers, with it matching the ones they’d seen on the victims. You mostly just nod and enquire about what the seal looks like. ‘It’s a seal with a lotus of some sort.’ Sherlock had said. Upon your arrival at the nearest police station, you’re met by an officer you haven’t seen before. Sherlock quickly explains to him what happened, noting that you’d been followed out of the venue. The officer puts it into the system before sending you away, saying he isn’t able to do much more at the moment. 

The four of you leave and head back to Baker Street, where John decides you should probably have some food. Not wanting to be a part of John’s date for much longer, you tell them you’re quite tired and before heading downstairs to your own flat. Not too long after, you hear the front door open, you suppose for their food delivery. You turn to your kettle to start boiling some water, but you stop midway through the motion because you hear shuffling and something drop. That’s unusual. You put down the kettle and walk to your door, opening it as quietly as possible. When you look around the corner, you see a man dressed in black quietly shuffling down the stairs with John, who you’re pretty sure is unconscious, thrown over his shoulder. Quickly, you close the door. Had it not been for you having to lay low and you’d have helped him then and there, but you supposed Sherlock would find out soon enough and go look for his companion. You turn on the kettle and message Jim.

You should reel them in, they just kidnapped John and his date. I assume they think he’s Sherlock or something. Will probably have to help SH and intercept. -S

As the water starts to come to a boil, you quickly change in some more comfortable, black clothes. Something that doesn’t look too suspicious given what you usually wear, but will help you manoeuvre around without too making much sound. You also grab one of your (many) guns and put it in one of your somewhat hidden pockets, where it’s easy to reach but hard to find if you don’t know it’s there. The kettle finally boils and you make yourself a cuppa. Upon taking the first sip, you hear multiple heavy and somewhat frantic knocks at your door. ‘I’m on my way.’ You put down the cup and open the door, where you’re met by the consulting detective himself. He looks quite panicked, which in a way you had expected, just not to this extent, meaning his weakness for John is much bigger than Jim (or Mycroft for that matter) had anticipated. ‘John’s gone. I’m certain that he’s been taken by the murderer and by extension the criminal network we’ve been investigating.’ Nodding, you grab your coat and join him, heading outside as quickly as possible.

‘Sherlock, I suggest you go in and I help from the shadows. You’re an amazing distraction and then I’ll be able to get John and Sarah out from the shadows.’ He nods, agreeing that it’d probably be the best plan of action. And so, that’s what the two of you do when you go in. John and Sarah are bound to separate chairs with rope about five feet from each other. While John has a gun pointed at him, Sarah is unfortunate enough to have a balasta pointed at her. John does look somewhat worried, Sarah on the other hand looks frightened and like she’s about to lose it. Given that she probably hasn’t been in such a situation, it makes sense, and any sensible human being would probably react like she is. Being the drama-queen he is, Sherlock waltzes in as if he owns the place, ridiculing that they hadn’t realised they had the wrong person entirely. Still, the ballista is slowly getting closer to being fired at the woman. It’s unclear to you what exactly happens, but one moment Sherlock’s trying to untie Sarah, and the next he’s been caught by some sort of a rope, forcing him away. ‘For god’s sake, he can’t do anything on his own, can he?’ You whisper to yourself before shooting in the shoulder of the man that’s trapping the detective. After which you immediately sprint to the ballista and point it towards one of Shen’s other henchmen, since it’s about to fire. It does so, and pierces the man through his chest. You take the opportunity of the confusion that ensues to run to John and cut the ropes. Sherlock does the same for Sarah. However, when you look up, Shen is gone.

The following day you contact Sebastian while you’re on your run. It isn’t that you see him or anything, you just leave him a codified message for him to find while you’re at the park for your daily run. The response follows in the form of a text message as you’re making your daily morning coffee. 

We dealt with it, you don’t have to worry about them anymore. -SM

You suppose he was the one to “deal with” them last night. 

I’d hope so. It really was a bit of a pain and entirely unnecessary. -S

Rather than getting a text back, he calls you.

‘Hello?’ His voice sounds low, as if he doesn’t want to alarm someone of his presence. ‘Hi, hope you’re alright.’ ‘Yes, yes, don’t worry about me.’ He pauses before continuing. ‘Jim’s pretty mad about the situation, he’ll probably contact you to apologise at some point soon.’ You sigh. ‘Will he? He isn’t one to apologise generally speaking. No matter, tell him to make sure the camera’s aren’t working wherever we meet up. The eldest Holmes seems to be keeping an eye on me. Probably wants to gauge if I’m trustworthy.’ You take a sip of your coffee before getting out your laptop. It’s one you usually use for purposes related to your actual job. Jim’s had it encrypted so that even the best systems the government uses can’t get into it. ‘I’ll let him know.’ As you’re typing in your password, he speaks up again, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled momentarily. ‘You know I do miss you, you know that right?’ You’re scrolling past a few documents, so you only make a noise that confirms you do. ‘We both miss you. The penthouse feels a bit empty. You were barely back and had to leave again…’ Jim rents a penthouse with enough rooms for all of you to live comfortably while still having your own space. The three of you have always been pretty close, with you and Seb being Jim’s closest confidantes, having been there pretty much from the beginning. And it’s true, you’d barely been back in England and Jim had sent you off, not even being able to stay in the penthouse you’d usually call home. Still, it was mostly you and Seb there, with Jim being at his estate most of the time to take care of business without being bothered too much. ‘I miss you guys too, but we both know it’s necessary.’ ‘You’re right, I’m just being sentimental.’ He sighs. ‘Don’t be, you know it’s a form of weakness.’ That last sentence comes out a bit harsher than you’d hoped, but it is the motto most go by in your profession. ‘We’ll meet again soon, I have to go now.’ You say as you hear someone walking down the steps, probably John based on the sound of it. ‘Yeah, soon Spike.’ He says before ending the call.

When you check for the caller ID, you see that there isn’t one. Not that it really mattered, this isn’t the phone you use to contact anyone you interact with on this mission. You have several phones you keep on you, two of them basically at all times. This one in particular is a blackberry, very much contrary to the iPhone you use on the daily to keep up appearances of you being a regular person that works at the Yard. A knock at your door has you going into action. Quickly, you close and put away your laptop before grabbing your cup of coffee and (somewhat) casually walking to and opening the door. As expected, it’s John. ‘Hello John, good morning.’ He looks up slightly as you open the door, since you’re about an inch and a half taller than him. ‘Good morning Charlie. I wanted to thank you for last night. You really helped us out there.’ You smile at him. ‘No problem at all, you were in a bit of a pickle and I suppose friends help in such situations.’ Friends. It’s a term you hadn’t used with him yet, but you guessed that he probably sees you in that way, so using the term could only strengthen that feeling. ‘Still, it was a lot; quite dangerous as well.’ The look you give him is nothing short of unimpressed. ‘John, I work at Scotland Yard, I’ve been in worse situations. Despite what you might think because of my current role, I’ve had basic training and been out in the field multiple times.’ He looks a bit surprised. ‘Do you want some coffee perhaps? It’s Saturday so I don’t have anywhere to go and I just made a pot.’ You step aside to invite him in. ‘Sure.’ He steps inside and you close the door behind him. You gesture for him to have a seat at your kitchen table. ‘I do hope I didn’t ruin your date with Sarah last night.’ He laughs. ‘Oh you didn’t ruin it. I think we both know Sherlock’s the one that was behind that.’ ‘About that, you are correct. Though maybe I should’ve expected where we were going and stopped him.’ You hand him his cup of coffee and sit down opposite of him. By the sounds of it, he doesn’t sound too worried about the entire situation. ‘So why do you tolerate it, John?’ ‘What do you mean? Tolerate what?’ Surely he knows what you’re talking about but just doesn’t want to admit it immediately. ‘Tolerate Sherlock ruining your dates, taking over your life and social life. All that sort of stuff.’ You make eye contact with him as you glance over your cup. ‘He does not take over my life Charlie.’ He deflects a little bit too quickly. ‘If you say so.’ You take another sip. ‘Well anyway, how is Sarah? Is she doing okay after yesterday evening?’ John stayed for about an hour before heading back upstairs, saying he’d promised the consulting detective to go on a case with him. From your conversation it became clear that John cares for Sherlock as well, though you aren’t certain whether he really knows that himself yet. You didn’t care, but you’re sure Jim will use it to his advantage.

That afternoon you decided you’d probably need to go to the shops again, realising that you didn’t have much food in your pantry. You went out not too long after in order to go get it, but you were stopped by a sleek black car pulling up next to you and stopping. Mycroft.

__________

Tags: @h-malacus

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

Happy Christmas, Mr. Holmes

Sherlock Holmes x OC, established relationship, some fluff, some romance, humor, and sweet holiday feels🎄❤️🎄 four chapters, complete

Christmas comes to Baker Street in a form Sherlock Holmes had never envisioned. There's a sweetness in seeing the holiday through someone else's eyes, and there are lessons in holiday spirit and the nature of giving--as well as how Love makes the season even brighter--to be learned.

(One of my oldest fics, this is also one of my favorites ~ for it was motivated not only by my love for BBC Sherlock, but even more so by my love of Christmas. I put a lot of my heart into this one, and if you should give it a read, I hope you find it pleasing, and in keeping with the season! Excerpt under the cut.)

Somehow, without even meaning to, Sherlock's path had taken him here: Notting Hill, Saint Mary of the Angels Church. He certainly had not intended to end up here, not as he left the shoppe (its final customer of the day), his hot food wrapped up to be consumed along the way. Had he been woolgathering so much that he'd moved without thinking to the place he knew Tessa to be? Or, he asked himself truthfully, had he intended to get here all along, knowing that his heart really did long for the comfort of community which the brightly lit church represented, the warmth that seemed to flow out with the strains of music coming from within? The thought of Tessa inside, joined in prayer and song with others of her faith--was that the magnet that drew him here? A man who stood outside of everything this building represented, yet now wanted nothing more than to do as he was doing--opening the door to feel the tide of shared and simple Christmas gladness wash over him.

Sherlock allowed himself to enter the vestibule, but stopped there, feeling it was enough for now. He knew, not just from what he could hear (and remembering similar services he had attended as a boy), but from the time itself, that the service was almost over. It was quite enough to imagine her inside, singing joyfully, and most likely wishing he was there to share it with her. He felt a sense of peace that had eluded him all day long, a sense of belonging that had for so many years been out of reach. He thought of those who had made it possible for him to feel he finally fit in somewhere--of John and Mrs. Hudson, of Lestrade and Molly, and of his Tessa, who had worked a minor miracle of sorts; they had gotten him to this marvelous threshold, and she had managed to carry him across it at last. Sherlock felt such a swell of love for all of them, that he was grateful to be alone, fearing the light of it would shine so obviously upon his face that he might be taken, by strangers, for a fool...

tagging: @strangedreamings (who may have seen this a few times before😉) @ben-locked (putting the 'ship' aside, just for the Christmas feels?) @mousedetective @darsynia (because you 'get me' enough to appreciate this fic) @aphroditesdilemma @hithertoundreamtof23 (dunno if you like Sherlock, but I'm betting you like Christmas stories) @aeterna-auroral-avenger (for the Faith we share & which makes you a Christmas person 365 days a year)

[mimsypoo]

wats up (mimi uses he/him)

[edward-evans-blog]

Edward Evans Blog, [Entry #1]

“The Flatmate…”

Hello, I am Edward Evans, The writer of this Blog. For my final assignment in one of my Courses In college I was given the task to document all the exciting things that happen to me over the course of three months. Sadly I’ve already wasted about three days trying to decide what exactly people might find exciting, I mean as far as exciting goes I’m really not sure my life fits the quota.. I’m a 19 year old English man who’s only friend is a bird who pop’s by my flat to eat from the bird feeder I installed outside my apartment window, so yeah.. not too exciting as you can see. well. At Least it wasn’t exciting until around breakfast time yesterday.

I was Just doing my regular every day routine. I got up at 5:36 and made myself a tea with avocado toast on the side and Refilled the bird feeder outside my flat and watched the birds eat while I ate, then at 6:47 I went outside and did a quick jog around the block once I came back to my flat around 7:40 I got a nice cold shower.. and after I got out and dressed that's when it happened. The thing that might just change my life forever…

I was sitting at my writing desk in my living room when suddenly I heard the strangest noise coming from my bedroom… I got up to investigate, holding a broom in my hands ready to hit anyone or anything that tried to jump out at me.. and that's when I quickly opened my room door just in time to see a strange looking man climb in through my window holding some sort of.. sack?? Well of course I wasted no time as I ran over and put my intruder into a choke hold, I guess those self defence classes I took over the summer did end up paying off… either way the intruder didn't seem to put up much of a fight.. He just kind of flailed around but I held my ground and kept a firm hold on him. At this point the man had dropped the sack he was carrying, this is around the time I started asking questions. I had asked him who he was and why he was breaking into my house though I didn’t get a very straight answer all he said was “get the bag” and “run” I started to get a bit confused by this so I dropped him from the choke hold and instead picked up the bag, but right as I was about to look into it I heard sirens and before I knew it the strange intruder had grabbed my hand and told me to follow him as he lead me out of the window in my living room!! (Fyi I live on the second story of a building.) we got lucky(?) however and landed in a dumpster full of soft discarded fabrics as I live right next to a fabric shop. The intruder still hadn’t let me go and now I was being dragged throughout the streets by some sort of crazy man?? Well not to my surprise the police soon caught up with us right as the intruder hailed a cab over and as the police were arresting him he yelled at me to “put the bagels in the back and run!” Still confused I opened the back of the cab door and opened the sack as I slowly realised the bag I had been carrying was filled with… Bangles..? 72 Bagels to be exact. I looked back at my intruder with confusion plastered to my face as he tried to fight off the cops. Yet he still yelled at me to put them in the cab and for some reason.. I did. Well.. after an hour or so we did get arrested. Apparently the stranger had robbed a bakery of 72 bagel’s .. not because he was poor and needed to… just because he was hungry and thought the price for a bagel was obscene.

I was arrested… over bagels… I didn’t even steal myself. “God this guy is inase.” Is all I could think as I sat in the holding cell. But then the most unexpected, unpredictable, surprising thing happened.. John Watson and Sherlock Holmes walked in! In the flesh!! I thought perhaps they were here to question someone for a case but instead they walked over to me and my intruders cell..

“Percy. What did you do?” Is the first thing I heard Sherlock say. I was confused and glanced over at the stranger in the cell with me.

“So your name's Percy?” I asked him, though he didn’t answer.

“Uncle Sherlock..John. Good to see you as well..” The stranger nodded up to the two celebrities nonchalantly.

“Percy, your father sent you here so you’d stay out of trouble not to get yourself and this poor boy arrested.”

John said, sounding more angry then I would imagine my first time meeting my idol would sound.. the bickering between them continued for a few minutes until suddenly Mr. Holmes had asked Percy, who I'm assuming is the man in the cell with me. “You can’t just run away Percy, where on earth would you go?”

And this was the moment that made me completely stunned.

Percy crossed his arms and looked up at Mr.Holmes.

“I could go to lots of places. In fact I might just move in with-“ he turned to look at me. “What's your name, tiny man?”

I looked at him confused and for the first time spoke with him. “Oh- uh- .. Edward? Edward Evans.”

I Answered the strange man a bit hesitant.

“Right. Well I might just move in with Eddie!”

He yelled, crossing his arms again.

“Oh- actually its Edward-“

I cut myself off quickly

“Wait- move in???? I don't even know you!!”

At this point John Watson, my Idol! Might I remind you, smiled

“Well. Fine. Move in with Eddie.”

I was shocked. Why on earth did they think That I would just let some random guy who broke into my house, made me a partner to his crime and got me arrested!!! Live! With! Me-

John spoke again. “It might be good for you. That’s actually how I met Sherlock. Moved in with him the second day I met him.”

…

It has now been a day since this happened and now I have a flatmate.

I've gotten to learn more about him thankfully. He is 19, just like me, but he’s not in school as he thinks he's too smart for it or something.. he likes bagels and solving crimes. And his uncle is the famous Sherlock Holmes.

He and I have come up with an agreement. He will help me with this assignment by letting me tag along with him on his cases and blog about them. And in return I let him live with me for a few months until his father “Mycroft” lets him move back in with him.

So.. This is the start of my blog.

The amazing adventures of Percy Holmes and Edward Evans.

Thank you for reading and stay tuned for more updates on our wonderfully unbelievable stories.

-Edward Evans.

[j-eryewrites]

The Abbey Grange Affair (II)

Part Seven of The Arbitrary Lives of the Occupants of 221b Baker Street

Word Count: 5.9 k

Previous | Next

SERIES MASTER LIST | MAIN MASTER LIST

Warning: Description of the crime scene, Description of physical injuries (bruises), a tiny hint of Sherlock fluff, robbery, murder, and slight mention of suicide. 

---

The rhythm in Sherlock’s step was a few paces faster than those slugging behind him. A faint smile adorned his face despite the early hour of the morning. With his coat collar held high, he marched towards the ticket purchasing desk. By the time Sherlock had purchased and paid for 3 train tickets to Bath, John and Y/N had finally caught up to him. Their cheeks both were bright pink from the cold early morning air. 

Sherlock turned towards the two holding the tickets in his hand raising his eyebrows slightly. John watched the tickets in Sherlock’s hand trying to decipher them. 

“You got tickets to Bath.” Opening his mouth to continue John quickly shut it, then after a short pause continued. “Sherlock, mind telling us why we are going to Bath at three in the morning?” John motioned towards the sinking figure of Y/N. 

Sherlock gaped at John lowering the hand holding the tickets. “The game is afoot John. I’ve already told you and Y/N this. Keep up.” 

“Yes, Sherlock I know…” John explained. 

“But what game exactly and why at…bloody three in the morning?” Interrupted Y/N.  John glanced over at Y/N feeling pity for her. She still was yet to realize the game Sherlock was talking about was a case. 

Frustration grew apparent on Sherlock’s face. Without another word, Sherlock left John and Y/N making his way to the train heading for Bath. John, realizing that the sleep-deprived woman was never going to keep up with Sherlock and his incredibly long stride, walked over to her and lead her in the direction Sherlock went.  

Glancing at his watch, Sherlock impatiently tapped his food on the floor, annoyed with his companion’s slow pace. It wasn’t his fault that he was naturally a brisk walker. Eventually, the two familiar people appeared in the corner of his eye. 

“Took you long enough.” Sherlock stated. 

“I’m sorry, your highness,” sarcastically grumbled Y/N. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes at Y/N’s childish comment. This was not the time or place. Handing both John and Y/N their tickets, Sherlock began, “ Once we get on the train, I will explain everything.”  Lowering his head towards Y/N’s ear he whispered, “You never know who may be watching.”

Giving Sherlock a slight shove, she grabbed her ticket and made her way onto the train. John unapologetically follows after her, leaving Sherlock behind. 

It was not hard for the three of them to find their seats on the vacated train. Any reasonable person would not have been up at three in the morning to get on a train to Bath, yet here they were. They were seated in a compartment on the train. Y/N made herself comfy in a window seat bringing her legs close to her body and resting her head against the window. John sat across from her, his back as straight as a needle; a physical memory from his days in the service. Sherlock took the seat next to Y/N, after closing the door to the compartment. 

Barely ten minutes later the train left the station and made its way to Bath. The only sound occupying the compartment was the rattling of the train cart along the tracks. It seemed as if even the great detective was tired from the disruption to his sleep. From inside, Y/N could see the occasional car driving by as she nestled further into her coat. John and Sherlock doing the same. Not one of them broke the silence despite Sherlock’s promise to explain everything. 

It wasn’t long before an overly cheery woman with a cart came by offering tea. Her hands shook as she handed each person a cup. The three of them gladly took the tea and began sipping away.  As the warmth of the tea began to fill their stomachs and bodies, their lips began to defrost and a conversation began. 

It started with Y/N, looking for a distraction to stay awake despite the alluring sound of the train upon the tracks. “Sherlock, you said you would explain why you woke us up so early, so explain.”

Taking a long sip of his tea, Sherlock drew his phone out of his pocket and began to read. 

“Excuse the sudden message, but I require your assistance. Late last night, I received a call about a case. After arriving at the scene of the crime, my station and I began to realize that this is no ordinary case. If I learned anything from my experiences at university it would be that extraordinary cases call for Sherlock Holmes. The scene has been kept exactly as I found it, except for the lady of the house, whom I have released. Please come as soon as possible. 

- Stanley Hopkins”

Turning off his phone and placing it back in his pocket, Sherlock continued, now having the full attention of John and Y/N. “Stanley has called me several times within the last few years. Each of his cases has been quite intriguing.” Turning towards John, he added, “I think that some of these cases would be popular blogs for you to write, John.”

John, crossing his right leg over his left, challenged, “ Why don’t you write the blogs, Sherlock?”

“I will, John. Currently, I am very busy with consulting. However, I plan to use my declining years to write a textbook on deduction with examples from my cases.”  A snort caught Sherlock’s attention and he leered at the source of the noise– Y/N. 

Upon noticing that her stifled laugh was caught, she began to apologize. “Sorry, it’s just…” She began chuckling, “It just sounds ridiculous.” 

Turning away from the woman, Sherlock clenched his jaw. “I would advise you not to call your employer’s plans ridiculous.” 

John couldn’t help but laugh as well. Sherlock’s blue eyes shot him a glare. “To be fair, Sherlock, she’s right. It is ridiculous.” 

Realizing that he could not win against two sleep-deprived children, Sherlock brought the subject back to the case. “A little after eleven, Mr. Eustace and Mrs. Eustace were attacked. I believe that Mr. Eutsace is dead.” 

Again the sound of the train dominated the room. John hesitated, “You believe he’s dead?”

“I would say so, John. Hopkin’s message shows considerable agitation. He’s not an emotional man. So yes, John. I believe there has been a murder.  Mrs. Eustace was released by Hopkins, as I read, so it leaves none other than Mr. Eustace. Additionally, a mere suicide would not have caused Hopkins to send for me,” Sherlock answered. “I think that Hopkins will live up to his reputation of intriguing cases and that we will have an interesting morning.” Usually, this type of deduction would impress all those around Sherlock, but with the addition of sleep deprivation. 

Nodding his head, John began to look out the window. It would be some time before the three of them arrived at the station. With his eyes growing heavy, he began to pull out his phone to provide an awakening distraction; knowing that if he gave in to his tiredness, he would not arise when they arrived at the station. 

Across from John, Y/N began to fall into her sleepiness. Her desire to stay awake became non-existent as her eyes slowly began to close, the darkness welcoming her. With the constant lull of the train, she gave into her slumber. Sherlock had to pull out his laptop to do some research. One should always be prepared for a case. As he began typing away, a heavy weight fell upon his shoulder. He slowly turned his head to gaze at the woman now sleeping on his shoulder. Looking over to John, he tried to catch his friend’s attention. Unfortunately, John was deeply focused on his phone. Narrowing his eyes, Sherlock began to slightly squirm in his seat but stopped once he heard a soft whim from Y/N. His blue eyes once again fell upon Y/N. Her breath relaxed and calm as her lashes slightly grazed against the top of her cheekbones. Sherlock continue to work away, but not before slouching ever so slightly so that Y/N’s delicate head could rest more comfortably on his shoulder.  A slight shade of pink tinted his cheeks, something that did not go unnoticed by John. 

_____

Y/N groaned as a bright light filled her vision. She was sleeping so comfortably, why did she have to wake up? Upon opening her eyes, she remembered where she was. Shooting up from her sleeping position on the seat. John had woken her up. Sherlock had jumped out of his seat the minute the train had come to its destination. Stretching slightly, she stood up and exited the train with John. 

Sherlock stood impatiently, tapping his foot whilst his companions made their way out of the train. He couldn’t but think of why John was teasing him for vacating the train so quickly. 

The train came to a stop and an automated voice came out of the speakers signalling the train had arrived in Bath. Shifting in his seat Sherlock prepared to leave. 

“Sherlock, what are you doing?” 

Glancing around, Sherlock replied, “I’m leaving the train, John.”

“Yes, I know, but you have to wake up Y/N.” John pointed towards the woman still sleeping soundly on Sherlock’s shoulder. 

“Why would I do that? John, the game is a foot and we must show the utmost urgency.” Sherlock stated. 

John opened his mouth to reply, but a large knowing smile erupted on his face. “Do you not want Y/N to know you let her fall asleep on your shoulder.” 

Scoffing Sherlock stammered, “Of course not, John. She fell asleep on me.”

“Oh come on, Sherlock. I saw you sacrifice your perfect posture so she could be more comfortable.” Chuckled John. 

Clenching his jaw, he carefully lifted Y/N’s head off his shoulder and laid her down. Standing up, he quickly left the cart, but not before instructing John to awaken the sleeping woman. 

Did he care? Thought Sherlock. No, he thought. It was just his drive to arrive at the crime. After all, he had been so bored for quite a while. If only John and Y/N would have left the train already. Right then, the two people emerged from the train, laughing about who knows what. Sherlock couldn’t help but ponder the possible reason for her lively smile. 

“Are you two done laughing? Stanley is waiting in a car to take us to Abbey Grange.” Insisted Sherlock. 

“Ya, we’re coming Sherlock.” Chirped Y/N. Clearly, the short nap on the train had done her some good. 

Nodding, Sherlock began marching off in the direction of Stanley’s car, John and Y/N following him. A shouting of the name Sherlock caught their attention. The three of them turned to face the direction and found a young and lively man in police attire. 

“Sherlock! It’s Stanley!” The man’s light brown hair bounced up and down as he yelled waving his arms in the air making sure that he had the consulting detective’s attention. 

Grimacing Sherlock replied in a pitch that matched Stanley’s, “Yep! I see you, Stanley!” Y/N and John began chuckling with each other and Sherlock silenced them with a curt “Shut up.”

When they had caught up with Stanley, introductions began. Sherlock introduced Stanley. “This is Stanley Hopkins, one of my friends at university.” As Sherlock acknowledged Stanley, a big bright smile adorned Stanley’s face. Stanley was quite shorter than Sherlock, but he made up for his short stature in size. He had large rosy cheeks that crinkled with his smile. His curly bushy mustache followed the shape of his smile.  

“Hello, everyone!” Turning towards John he stuck out his hand. “You must be John!” Stanley chirped. John shook his hand in reply.  “I’m a big fan of your blog. The wife and I love to read it whenever it comes out.” 

John sheepishly replied, ��Thanks?”

Then the man turned towards Y/N, “I don’t think I heard about you, Miss..”

The woman looked at Stanley with a smile and introduced herself, “L/N. Y/N L/N. I’m Sherlock’s new assistant.”

Stanley grabbed her hand and gave it a good shake. “She’s a pretty one, Sherlock.” He joked. Y/N’s eyes widen, and her face flushed with embarrassment. Sherlock ignored Stanley’s comment and began to ask about the case. “Right, Sherlock, always wanting to hear about the cases.” Slapping Sherlock on the back making Sherlock stand stiffer, Stanley began chuckling, “the things this man would get into at Uni…Anyway, my cars just…well here and if you just hop in, I’ll drive you over to Abbey Grange.”

Y/N was the first to open the door to the car, upon opening the door, she came to find a child’s car seat and many toys and snacks scattered around the floor and seats of the car. “Ermm…” hesitated Y/N, “Are we all going to fit in the car?” The three men turned to look at her and Stanley’s eyes widened. 

“Dear me!” Stanley exclaimed. “I didn’t realize there’d be three of you. Let me just move the car seat out of the way real quick.” He snuck past Y/N and dived into the back seat, fiddling with the car seat until it came loose. After taking it out he placed it in his trunk. Then he returned to the back seat and began brushing off the various crumbs and snacks onto the floor. Then emerging from the car, he swung his arms dramatically, “Milady.” Y/N gave a slight smile and cautiously entered the car. Slowly John and Sherlock followed suit. Once everyone was settled, Stanley began to apologize. “Sorry about the mess, my kid…Well, my kid. Let’s just say you would have had a much more pleasurable experience taking a cab.” Y/N lowered her head and began to fiddle with her fingers. “But Sherlock insisted that he wouldn’t take a cab. Something about the germs.” Y/N glanced over at the back of Sherlock’s head, with a softened gaze. She knew for a fact that Sherlock did not have a thing for germs. She had seen the way he kept his flat. “So you get the pleasure of riding in the Beatle.” Beamed Stanley as he gently tapped the wheel. 

Sherlock mumbled, “Only you would name your car after the Beatles.” 

Stanley looked over at Sherlock. “You remembered?!” Looking in the rearview mirror, he grinned, “I love the Beatles. In fact, my dorm room was decorated in Beatles records, posters, photos, you name it.” Glancing down at his stereo, a light grew in his eyes. “In fact, why don’t we listen to some Beatles right now.”

As Stanley’s thick finger fiddled with the stereo, Sherlock cleared his throat and requested to hear about the case in more detail. Once Stanley had finished placing the Beatles cd into the stereo, he started to inform his three guests about the case. “As you might not have known I am the D.I. for the Bath police department…” Stanley then began to go on a tangent about the case that promoted him to D.I. Sherlock groaned knowing that Stanley could not be swayed from his tangents. 

Y/N began to zone out of the conversation and looked out the window. The sun’s rays began to peak out and the sky slowly became a beautiful shade of pink and orange. Although the review was dampened by small handprints and drawings on the window that became apparent with the slight frost on the windows. A soft smile appeared on her face as she remembered when she would do the same as a child. Her mother always got stern when the car windows were adorned with smiley faces and other images. With the theme of childhood on her mind, Y/N’s thoughts turned towards the strange recurring dreams that have visited her the past few nights. They were of James. Her childhood best friend. Y/N thought of how the two would get into so much trouble running outdoors, returning home covered in mud. Then when the two entered school, she remembered the protector she found in her friend. James stood up for her when she was bullied or looked down on by the teachers. He would always say he would protect her. Soon she began to wonder where James was today. What job did he have? Did he take on his father’s business whatever it was? Was he married? What about a family? Puzzled, Y/N began to question why she was dreaming about James in the first place, but her train of thought was cut off by Stanley’s loud chuckle at something Sherlock had commented. 

After collecting his breath, Stanley turned down a long narrow country road. There were large trees and barren bushes lined the pathway. The speed of the car began to slow as they approached a rusted gate. The gate was then opened by an elder man whose face bore the roughness of time. Stanley’s car continued to drive down the lane passing by a park-like field. The trees were barren, and leaves have fallen on the ground. Eventually, they came to a large beige house in front of them. There were many police cars and policemen and women standing all around the front yard. Finally, the car came to a stop, and they all exited the car. The sight of the house took Y/N’s breath away. It was the if the home was taken out of one of Jane Austen’s novels. The house had large pillars that adorned the lower half. There were multiple large windows with beautiful woodworking designs. Lush green vines of ivy wrapped around the pillars. Although the house showed signs of great age, there were many modern modifications that had been made to the exterior. Suddenly, Sherlock appeared right beside her. 

“Your mouth is a gape.” He pointed out. Y/N quickly closed it and looked up toward Sherlock. His stormy blue eyes met hers. “We’re waiting for you.” He nodded towards where Stanley and John were standing by the entrance to the magnificent building. Sheepishly, Y/N lowered her head. She had completely forgotten they were here for a case and not for sightseeing. Despite how much the woman wanted it to be the prior, she followed Sherlock to where the others were standing. 

Clapping his hands together, Stanley chirped. “Now that everyone is here, shall we go in?” Raising his eyebrows with a big smile, the four of them entered Abbey Grange. 

_______

“I’m very glad that you came, Sherlock.” Beamed Stanley, then catching sight of John and Y/N he continued, “And you too Dr. Watson and Ms. L/N. But if I had it my way, I would have immediately solved this strange case and not required your help at all Sherlock.” Stanley’s heavy steps echoed off the hardwood floors. “I’ve been told that Lady Eustace has come to herself and is ready for an interview.” They passed through a hallway decorated with oil paintings of figures dressed in fancy clothing from all ages of time. “You remember the Lewisham gang of burglars, Sherlock?” asked Stanley. 

The mention of the burglars piqued John’s interest. “What, the three Randalls?” John guessed. 

“What?” mouthed Y/N to John. 

“The father and two sons duo.” John clarified. 

“Exactly,” chirped Stanley. “I believe it’s their work. There is no doubt. They did a job not far from here a few days ago. It makes sense that they would hit another house so soon and so near.”

“Except, they added murder into the mix,” interjected Sherlock. They all stopped to look at Sherlock. “Mr. Eustace is dead?” 

Stanley nodded. “Yes, his head was knocked in with his own poker.”

It was Y/N’s turn to ask something. “Who is Mr. Eustace?”

Stanley brought his hand to his chest and began divulging Eustace’s identity. “Sir Eustace Brankenstall is one of the richest men in Bath. Married to the young and beautiful Mrs. Ada Brakenstall. Don’t know how a man his age married her, but…” Stanley sighed changing the subject. “Poor Mrs. Brakenstall is in the morning room. She seemed half-dead when I first saw her. I think it is best if you interview her and get her account of the facts. Then we can examine the dining room.” Then Stanley came to a stop in front of two large white doors. Placing his large hands on the door he opened them to reveal the morning room. 

Inside there sat two women. One younger-looking woman in her early twenties sat in the arms of an elder-looking woman. The younger woman’s face was slightly red and puffy. On her head, there was a large purple bruise. She wore a pink form-fitted dress that flowed out at the bottom. The elder woman holding her caressed the younger woman’s loose blonde curly hair. She wore a dark black stiff suit, and her pepper gray hair was pulled back in a tight bun. The two women sat on a dark green velvet couch. Sherlock, John, and Y/N sat down on the couch in front of the women. 

A sob came out of the blonde’s mouth. She had an Australian accent; not typical of a lady her status. “I have told you everything that happened, Mr. Hopkins. Can’t you repeat it for me?” She looked up at the detective with her baby-blue eyes. 

Stanley gently approached the woman. “Mrs. Brakenstall,” she shuttered. “Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, and Ms. L/N are all here to help me solve this case. It is necessary that you tell them what has occurred.” 

“Have they been in the dining room yet?” She asked. 

“I thought that they better hear your story first.” Notified Stanley. 

“I can’t believe he’s still lying there!” cried Ada as she buried her face in her hands. As she did, the sleeve of her dress fell from her forearms. 

Y/N exclaimed as she took notice of the multiple different coloured bruises, “Miss, what happened?” 

Ada took in a shaking breath. “It’s nothing.” Her eyes cast down. “It has no connection with the murder.” 

“Mrs. Brakenstall,” Sherlock requested. “If you could please tell us about the events that occurred.”

Y/N pulled her phone from her pocket and opened the notes app. The elder woman’s grip on Ada got tighter as she began to relay the story. “I am Ada Brakenstall. I have been Mr. Brakenstall’s wife for about a year. I suppose it is no use to hide the fact that our marriage was not a happy one. Anyone could see.” Ada brushed some of her curly golden hair from her face revealing more bruises on her face, except these were a yellowish tint. “I grew up in Australia. My mother and I lived in a caravan home, so this fancy English life doesn’t make sense to me.” She slightly chuckled. “Back my marriage. Eustace was an alcoholic. To be in his presence for an hour was just unpleasant.” Her gaze fixated on Y/N, who was busy typing the information into her phone. “Can you imagine a lively, sensitive, loving, young woman being tied to an abusive drunk for the rest of her life?” She instantly sat up, her cheeks flushed and eyes blazing from underneath her bandaged brow. Then the elderly woman brought a hand to Ada’s head and lead it back onto her shoulder. A sob broke out from Ada. After a while, she continued. 

“I will tell you what happened last night. As you probably already know, this house has servants. They take care of the house and grounds and sleep in the modern wing. I live in this block of the house. There are the guest rooms, the kitchen, and Theresa’s room. Theresa, my maid, sleeps above my room. There is no one else and no sound would ever reach those in the farther wing. This must have been known by the robbers.” 

“Eustace went to bed around 10.30. The servants had gone to bed as well. Theresa was awake in the room above mine. I was in here entranced by a book. After realizing the time, I began to do rounds closing and locking up the house. Since Eustace could never be in his drunken state. I closed the drawing room, the kitchens, and the gun room, and finally, I came to the dining room. I was approaching one of the windows to lock them when a man snuck behind me and grabbed my wrist. Upon seeing more men in the room, I opened my mouth to scream, but then he struck me with his fist, and I fell to the ground. I must have fallen unconscious because when I came to myself, I found that the men had torn down the bell rope in the room that would call the servants and had used it to tie me to one of the dining room chairs. There was a handkerchief wrapped around my mouth to prevent me from calling for help.” Ada quickly stifled a sob. 

“Then Eustace, my husband, entered the room. He must have heard some suspicious sounds and came with a poker in his hand. He rushed at the burglars, but the elder of them grabbed the poker from his hand and…,” She shuttered. “He took the poker and struck Eustace. I heard him fall and groan in pain. Then silence. I lost consciousness once more. When I woke up again, I saw that all the silver from the sideboard was gone and that a bottle of wine had been opened and there stood three glasses on the table. I think the three men might have had a drink before escaping the scene. Eventually, I was able to get the gag out of my mouth and I called for help. Once Theresa and the staff had arrived, we called the police.” She paused collecting herself and wiping some stray tears from her face. “That is all I remember.” 

Sherlock brought his hands together to rest under his chin and his left leg lifted to rest on his right. “I would like to hear about your experience, Theresa.” Requested Sherlock. 

Theresa sat straighter as her fierce green eyes met Sherlock. “I saw the men before they ever entered the house.” This intrigued Sherlock and he leaned closer to the woman. “I sat by my bedroom window and saw three men in the moonlight down by the gate. I thought nothing of it at the time. But then an hour later, I heard Ada scream, and I ran down to find her tied up. I saw Mr. Brakenstall’s brains and blood splattered around the room.” Theresa instantly stood up; an arm still wrapped around Ada. “I think you’ve interrogated Ada long enough. She needs rest after what she has been through.” 

Without another word, Theresa stood Ada up and in a motherly tenderness led her out of the room. 

John glanced over at Sherlock and recognized the expression on his friend’s face: boredom. Luckily, they still had the crime scene to investigate. John looked toward Stanley and asked, “Can we see the crime scene now?” 

Stanley nodded and motioned for the three of them to follow. They then came to another set of doors that lead to the dining room. 

It was a very large room with a high ceiling. The ceiling was made of carved oak. On the wall, there were deer heads and weapons paneling the walls. The other wall had many windows. On the left of the room, there stood a large, deep fireplace with a thick oak mantlepiece. In the middle of the room, there was a long dining table. There was a chair pulled out of place with a cord wrapped around it. The knots on the rope remained. In front of the fireplace, there lay a tiger skin. But what lay on the tiger's skin caused a pause in Y/N’s breath. 

It was a body of a tall, well-built man, in his late fifties. He was laying on his back, his mouth agape between his large peppery beard. He was still wearing his nightwear. What drew the eyes of the three, was the man’s head. It was horribly injured and bloody. Next to his head lay the heavy metal poker, bent perfectly to fit the deceased’s head. Sherlock closely examined the body and the weapon. 

Peering up at John, Sherlock asked, “John, how much strength do you estimate it would take to bend the poker upon impact?”

“I don’t know, Sherlock. I bet it’s a lot.”

Nodding Sherlock then inquired of Y/N. “You took notes.”

“That’s right,” she replied. 

“Who did Ada say stuck Mr.Brakenstall?”

Looking through her notes, she quickly found the answer. “The…the elder of the three burglars.” 

John scoffed. “I doubt anyone over the age of 40 could pull that off.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened and then Immediately stood up. “Stanley, the elder Randell man, he must be quite strong.”

“Yes,” said Hopkins. “According to our police record and the record of others, he seems to be quite the rough fellow.”

“What are your thoughts, Stanley?” Probed Sherlock. 

Straightening his tie, Stanley revealed his idea of the case. “We have been on the lookout for him. There was a rumor that they had plans to flee to America, so we sent the news to every airport. I don’t see how they can escape us now. It’s just…” 

“Just what?” Asked Sherlock.

“Just how they could have gone and robbed Abbey Grange. Let alone left Mrs. Brakenstall live. They must have known she would have been able to give a description if she survived.”

“You’re saying that they should have killed her?” Repeated Y/N. 

“Exactly,” confirmed Sherlock.” One would expect them to silence her.”

John chimed in, “Maybe they didn’t realize.” They all looked toward him. “She was unconscious for most of the events. They might not have noticed her re-awaken.”

Taking in the information, Sherlock's eyes dazed off as if they were in a separate reality. “Hopkins. Tell me more about Mr. Eustace Brakenstall.” 

“He was a good man when he wasn’t drunk or half-drunk. He seemed to almost always be half-drunk. Some people say that the devil resided in him and that he could be capable of anything. In spite of his status and wealth, he almost came to stay with us a few times.” Sherlock then started to peruse around the room. “One such time was when he poured gasoline on the lady’s dog and set it afire, but it was quickly hushed and forgotten about.” 

“He what?!” gasped Y/N. “That’s just…”

Something in the corner of John’s eye caught his attention. “Sherlock, what are you doing?” 

Sherlock was on all fours peering closely at the rope wrapped around the chair. He observed every knot along the red cord. Then he brought his attention to the frayed end of the cord where it had been cut to trap Ada. 

“When the cord was pulled down, the bell in the kitchen must have rung loudly.” Stated Sherlock. 

“No one could hear it,” respond Stanley. “The kitchen is at the back of the house.”

Y/N furred her brows. “Then how did the burglars know that no one would hear it?”

“Exactly, Ms. L/N,” Stanley exclaimed. “That is the question I keep asking myself. There is no doubt that the Randalls must have known Abbey Grange and its habits. Knowing when all the servants would be in bed and that no one would hear the bell if rung. I think he must have been in close contact with one of the servants. But all eight servants have solid alibis and are good people.”

“Randall being as well-known as he is, wouldn’t have much trouble finding help,” Sherlock noted. 

“Well, Ada’s alibi is completely corroborated by the crime scene, so she can’t have been lying. Right?” Questioned Y/N. 

Sherlock made his way to the open window and glanced outside. “What did they take, Stanley?” Sherlock inquired. 

“They didn’t take much–only have a dozen silver plates and silverware. The Lady thought they were too disturbed by Eustace that they did not ransack the house like they usually do.”

“Well, that’s quite obvious, yet they drank wine,” commented Sherlock. He pulled out a set of latex gloves and placed them on his hands before picking up the wine glasses and bottle that were placed on the dining table. 

“What? To steady their nerves?” scoffed John. 

Turning around, Sherlock confirmed John’s statement. “Exactly. As you can see the three glasses are grouped together. Each was tinted with wine as if each of the burglars had drunk some. One of the glasses contains dregs and beeswing and the bottle is about…” He gave the bottle a swirl. “Two-thirds full.” Then Sherlock brought the bottle close and observed the dust covering the bottle. “The burglars indulge themselves in some vintage wine, that was made in the 1870s.” A change of expression came over Sherlock’s features. He no longer had his listless expression, but the light of interest was still alight within his icy blue eyes. Then he proceeded to pick up the cork and examined it. “The bottle was opened by a pocket screw, one that probably contains a knife, and it was not more than an inch and a half long. It took them three tries before the cork was extracted. I’m sure when you find the Randalls, that you will find a pocket knife fitting this description.” Then Sherlock gently placed the cork back down. 

Y/N’s eyes widened. Sherlock could tell all that from cork. The praise from John and her aunt about Sherlock’s ability was beginning to make sense. 

Stanley clapped his hands together. “I never get tired of that, Sherlock.” 

“Ada said she saw the men drinking, did she not?” inquired Sherlock. 

“Umm…” finding the answer within her notes, Y/N clarified. “Yes.”

“Right.” Stated Sherlock. With a snap, the latex gloves were removed and disposed of. Sherlock walked towards Stanley, placing a hand on his shoulder. “ Well, good morning, Hopkins. I don’t see that I can be of any use to you. 

John’s mouth hung agape as processed what Sherlock had just said. “That’s it?”

“Yes, John. Stanley appears to have this case all under control. Let me know when the Randalls are arrested, Stanley. Come, John, Y/N. It is time for us to return home.” 

“Right then, let me have one of my officers drop you all off.” After a pause, Stanley continued, “It was nice seeing you again Sherlock.” 

John looked over at Y/N and she shrugged in response. After saying goodbyes to Stanley, the two shuffled towards Sherlock.  Then the three of them left the room, meeting up with the officer who would take them back to the station–back to 221B Baker Street. 

__________________________________________________________

Comment below if you would like to be added to the tag list for this series.

Thank you all for being patient with me and this posting of this chapter! I hope you all have a great week and I’ll see you next week for another chapter.  

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Tag List: @biggerthancalli13 @themartiansdaughter @starlightaurorab​

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[femboykyo]

Y'all my rings that Liam gives Juni came it! The first one is the one he gives Juni when juni's nervous for a job, the second one is the ring Liam replaces after the first one gets taken away from Juni. The replacement is also an engagement/wedding ring🤭🤭

First ring

Second ring

[barbasbodaciousbeard]

Can I ask you a question? Ch 1

“Can I ask you a question, Mr. Holmes?”

Poppy Watson sat across from Mycroft Holmes in his office, and the frown etched into delicate features said she did not appreciate the way a sleek black car had picked her up on the way to the fabric shop. She did not like that a strange woman knew her name and assured her it didn’t pertain to the husband in Poland on an archaeological dig. Sure, it was an assurance he was safe, but she’d moved into 221C and been told by her husband’s cousin Sherlock Holmes’ brother was sure to pull something like this.

“Of course, Mrs. Watson.”

The smile was genteel. There was a certain venom under it, but one that carried little weight. John and Sherlock had never told her the details of what happened at Sherrinford, but she knew whatever it was enough that John Watson had felt it needed to confess feelings for Sherlock and talked about it with the same steeling of his jaw that told her the conversation was over. She also knew that it centered around secrets from Mycroft Holmes that meant his parents no longer spoke to him outside of visits to a mysterious sister, though Sherlock insisted that would change. But now, his big brother wasn’t asking for his whereabouts to be tracked; Mycroft Holmes wanted to know Sherlock’s moods and growth into fatherhood.

“Have you tried calling your brother to ask how his week has been?”

Mycroft blinked for a moment before his posture returned. It was like the very idea was antithetical. Maybe it was because she’d only known the younger Holmes as a neighbor and in-law, one who saw him holding a crying little girl and pulling faces to get her to laugh.

“My brother, I’m afraid, has viewed me as the enemy his entire adult life. If I were to begin calling to,” a strained smile, “chat he would suspect I’m up to something."

“He knows you aren’t as strong as you’d like to think,” she said plainly, and her voice had the same intonation she’d heard it said into a phone in the kitchen when Sherlock spoke to his mother or Gregory Lestrade.

“Do you consider that a compliment?” he asked with a look of distaste.

“I suppose I do, Mr. Holmes. It means he knows you’re someone under all of this.” Poppy gave a dismissive wave at his office.

“The sentiment is fine, I suppose, but I’d encourage you to keep superfluous thoughts like that inside that pretty little head.”

“You think my head’s pretty?” His nose scrunched at her playful lilt before he rolled his eyes.

“Objectively, I suppose.”

“Mr. Holmes, this is an elaborate rouse to have meetings with me.”

“You are a married woman, Mrs. Watson.”

“You’re no fun.”

“Besides, what makes you assume we’ll have meetings?”

“I think you want company more than you’ll admit, Mr. Holmes.” She stood, smoothing the silky fabric of her flowing dress before tucking a handbag in the crook of her elbow. “I’ll see you out,” he said stiffly, and he did not like the way she rolled her eyes.

“Will this car take me back to the shop I was at? I have a commission.”

“Commission?” he asked, feigning surprise. “An artist?”

“Mr. Holmes, your omnipresent eyes have been outed. What don’t you know?”

“I’ve not looked at your medical records. Quilting. Quite antiquated, but a beautiful art. Your husband Rob is abroad in Poland leading graduate students at a dig site for the summer, leaving his wife to move into 221C until he can arrive and help her find a place to live. Would you like me to look into him, Mrs. Watson?”

Now it was her turn to tense, jaw steeling as she looked ahead. Sherlock had asked her it too, referencing the graduate students more directly. Hours were suddenly longer when he was in the same city, and he always came home smelling of merlot and someone else’s perfume. Poppy was still deciding what she wanted to do about it. She made enough money selling hand-stitched quilts and creating patterns and selling supplies. Internet commerce was her savior, as were galleries that accept textile art. But to leave her husband when she lived in a new country? When she looked up at Mycroft Holmes, the stories she’d heard had her expecting to see a smug satisfaction, but his gaze was softer than she expected, and it was soft in a way that made her suspect he had already looked into it.

“I don’t,” she said softly, reaching and giving his bicep a grateful squeeze. He looked at her hand and then to her face, the most dignified look of bewilderment she’d ever seen plastered on his face. “I have my suspicions. I wish to remain blissfully ignorant until I can’t anymore.”

“You know the reality. That is compartmentalization, not ignorance. If it ever comes to it, I will do everything within my power to assure you can stay in the country.”

“Is that sentiment or compassion, Mr. Holmes?” she asked with a gentle smile.

“Don’t strain my kindness,” he said, rolling his eyes now.

“I’ll see you when you decide it’s time for our next meeting.”

“I will call, Mrs. Watson.”

“You will pick me up, Mr. Holmes.”

“I do not need company.”

“Then you will not receive updates.”

“Whatever you say, Mrs. Watson.”

[rey-jake-therapist]

The One That Got Away (Sherlock fanfic)

Hey lovely people!

After "It's so cold", my Molly Hooper centric one shot fic, here's the beginning of my second contribution to the Sherlock fandom :)

Link AO3 ⬇️

RATING: mature

PAIRINGS: Sherlock/Original Female Character, Mycroft/Original Male Character, John/Molly

TIMELINE: post The Final Problem, with many flashbacks of Sherlock's past (between 10 and 15 years before TFP)

TW: PTSD, references to past rape, drugs and suicide

STATUS: WIP

Summary:

Six months after Sherlock's sister Eurus put him, his brother Mycroft and his best friend John Watson through a series of sick games that nearly got all them killed, they all came back to their life. After helping Sherlock to repair the damages caused by the fire that destroyed their apartment, John found a new job and raises Rosie in the house he used to share with Mary. However, he hasn't forgotten his friend Sherlock, who resumed his consulting work at 221B Baker Street. It's not enough to cure Sherlock's boredom, but soon a new case will get him back to Scotland Yard; a wealthy man was found hanged in his living-room, and the circumstances surrounding his death are mysterious. Despite Lestrade's inclination towards deeming it a suicide, Sherlock is doubtful: how come his safe, hidden behind a painting, was found unlocked and emptied? Was the hanged man a blackmail's victim? Was it even a suicide? For the first time in months, Sherlock is excited: at last, the game is on! Little does he know that this new case will soon force him to face the ghost of a past he thought was behind him. Memories of a case he investigated fifteen years ago resurface, along with the heartbreak that ensued.

[qarl-grimes]

For Ophelia. Some cute domestic shit. Also a wedding. Also dying for her to meet his parents.

all noted 😊😊😊😊

[writingriver001]

Art dump of my OC Penelope and slightly her husband, Mr Micrometre Holmes 💙 PART ONE

(No, I'm definitely not posting this because I got ill again and haven't written anything. 😎)

Info & doodles under the cut~

Part Two

Penelope (Penny), 32 years old. Works at a garden centre, has a daughter (Who is technically her best friends kid but yk, the friend died.) who is 11-ish months upon meeting Mycroft.

Loves dying her hair, mostly pink, occasionally bits of purple. She wears a lot of yellow, and sundresses.

Does anyone want fanfiction of this 👀

Either one shots, series, or bullet point stuff.

[anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek]

A moodboard for the book I'm currently proofreading and editing

A Mycroft Holmes x OC fanfiction

[mxacegrey]

Non ducor, duco Aesthetics

Aurora Moran

Alex Smallwood

Taglist: @khaleesihavilliard