#Mycroft being a good brother

[darkkitty1208]

I've been in the Sherlock fandom for a long while now but have only recently realised that 'Mycroft Holmes's Umbrella' is an actual, canonical character tag.

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Do you think it's weird that I was fine with Roxas finding out he was Sora's Nobody in Kingdom Hearts, but Adrien not being what we thought he was triggered my ick factor a lot? Do you think it's because we learned that about Roxas before we had a lot of time to get attached to him?

I was initially going to say that I can't answer this because I've only played Kingdom Hearts 1, so my knowledge of the later games is pretty limited. Then I remembered that my little brother is both obsessed with those games and the Mycroft to my Sherlock*, so I gave him a call and got the expert opinion (and a reminder that I need to play the Kingdom Hearts games so that my brother can talk about them with someone who understands story telling because those games apparently make a lot of... interesting choices.)

Here is the sum of my brother's analysis:

The two properties handled the concept of personhood and artificial beings in such wildly different ways that it would never even occur to him to compare them (though it was an interesting question once posed). A good portion of the later Kingdom Hearts games revolve around asking what a person even is. Should they try to make the Nobodies into people? Do the Nobodies even need to change to be people or are they people already? What makes Roxas different from other Nobodies? These questions start being asked very early on and, for all the story's flaws, you can tell that the writers are aware that they're dealing with a serious topic and that they're trying to do it justice.

Meanwhile, Miraculous introduces artificial beings who don't have true free will and then... completely ignores all of the ethical implications of that plot point. Emilie and Gabriel are good parents. The fact that the heroes have been killing off sentimonsters isn't concerning. Gabriel's commands are just a minor inconvenience to Adrienette and not anything that needs to be explored in a deeper way. He's still totally redeemable and it's fine that Adrien never learned the truth while his father was alive so that he could decide what that meant for their relationship on his own terms.

Given all of that, it's really not shocking that Kingdom Hearts makes you feel invested while Miraculous repulses you because the Miraculous introduced human sentimonsters for cheap shock value to the point where I firmly believe that it was a retcon. Meanwhile Kingdom Hearts planned major elements of the plot around the concept and set it up right from the start of the second game. If Miraculous had done the same kind of thing, then I doubt that most salters would be deeply upset by the concept. They still might dislike it, but it would be seen more as a matter of taste than as a true flaw.

*For those who don't know, Mycroft Holmes is Sherlock Holmes' older brother. Sherlock openly admits that Mycroft is the smarter and more observant of the two siblings. The same can be said of my sibling when it comes to story telling. Everything I can do, he can do just as well or even better. He's never seen miraculous, but knows the major plot beats from a mix of cultural osmosis and reading the occasional fanfic when an author he likes crosses fandoms. He is highly amused that no one he follows does anything save for fix-it type stuff and says it tells him everything he needs to know about canon's writing quality, an assessment I fully agree with.

[holylulusworld]

Mrs. Sherlock Holmes (3)

Summary: Your marriage starts rocky.

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Wife!Reader

Warnings: angst, shy reader, fluff, getting to know each other, implied innocent reader, protective/possessive Sherlock, mentions of getting robbed

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

Mrs. Sherlock Holmes (2)

Mrs. Sherlock Holmes masterlist

You wake warm and cozy, Sherlock’s arms locked tight around your middle. He nuzzles his face in your hair, whispering your name. “Sir, I mean Sherlock.”

“Good morning, Precious,” he husks in your ear. “How did you sleep? Does your face still hurt? I can call for the doctor again.”

“I feel better,” you say. It’s a little too much this morning. Sherlock being so close. His change of behavior. Sherlock seems to be everywhere you are to shower you with affection. “It barely hurts anymore.”

“Good, that’s good,” he softly kisses your hair. “I’ll be away this morning for a few hours. But I promise to come back soon. Mycroft and Enola will arrive tonight. We need to discuss her future.”

“Do you want me to prepare something special for them? Maybe I can help in the kitchen.”

“Y/N, you are the lady of the house. You don’t need to take care of the food. I already prepared everything,” he kisses your temple. “And I’ll take care of the problem with Mrs. Demeter too. She will never treat you the way she did.”

You snuggle in your pillow to get a little more sleep as Sherlock slips out of bed. He watches you fall asleep before turning to get ready for the day.

“Sleep well, my precious angel. I’ll see you soon.”

“Mrs. Demeter, we are expecting guests tonight. We need more flowers, don’t you think?” She sneers at your words. You only wanted the dining room to look more welcoming, and all she did was ignore your every word.

“I don’t think so,” she finally says. “Mr. Holmes asked me to prepare everything for tonight. I think his brother and sister expect more than flowers from dinner with Mr. Holmes.”

She rushes out of the room, barking orders at the staff while you stand in the dining room, close to tears. Nothing has changed. 

Sherlock is gone once again and Mrs. Demeter acts like she’s his wife, not you.

You wipe your wet eyes and flee out of the dining room. If your husband is more interested in listening to what this woman has to say, he can spend the evening with her and his guests.

“Precious open the door,” Sherlock hammers against the door to your bedroom. “What has gotten into you? Mycroft and Enola will be here any minute!”

“Why don’t you ask Mrs. Demeter to join you for dinner? Obviously, she’s the woman you trust the most. I’m having a terrible headache!”

He sighs and knocks again. “Please open the door. Whatever happened while I was away wasn’t my fault. I told her to respect you.”

“She will never respect me, Mr. Holmes. I think we should consider this marriage as what it is. Loveless and hopeless. You are married to your cases. And while you are away your precious Mrs. Demeter makes my life even harder. I will never leave this room again.”

“Brother, what is this about?” Mycroft hurriedly walks toward your room. “Where is your lovely wife? Why doesn’t she join us? Is she sick, or still scared because of the incident?”

“She’s angry at me,” Sherlock sighs and runs his fingers through his locks. “Mrs. Demeter…she…”

“You should talk to that woman while I try to make your wife feel safe and welcome in this family again,” Mycroft snaps at his brother. 

“She’s my wife, not yours,” your husband glares at his brother. “I know how to make her feel safe.”

“No. You don’t,” his brother exclaims. “If you did, she wouldn’t have locked herself away from you, and the world.”

Sherlock grits his teeth when Mrs. Demeter dares to walk his way. “Mr. Holmes, Sir.” She coos his name and tries to make him believe you are suffering from female hysteria.

“Mrs. Demeter,” Sherlock raises his voice, making even his brother flinch. “I must mishear! Did you accuse my wife of being hysterical? This diagnosis is nonsense. Every person with a sharp mind knows it.”

“Sherlock,” Mycroft tries to calm his brother, but Sherlock moves closer to Mrs. Demeter. He towers over her, panting heavily. “You are dismissed. I want you to pack your things and leave my home.”

“Mr. Holmes, you can do this! Not over this hysteric girl and her lies,” she cries and begs but Sherlock won’t have it.

“Mrs. Demeter, you should leave now. My brother is close to losing his composure. Believe me, you don’t want to feel his wrath.”

Mycroft leads Mrs. Demeter down the stairs to give your husband time to talk to you.

“Please open the door. I believe she’ll treat you with respect. I wanted to give her one last chance. I owed her that much.” He presses his ear to the door. “Precious, open the door.”

“Only when she’s gone,” you unlock the door and step away. “If you lied, I’ll stay here.”

Sherlock opens the door, almost ripping it open to get to you. He wraps you in his arms and peppers kisses all over your forehead. “I’ll never disappoint you again, wife. From now on, I’m your loyal servant…”

Part 4

Tags in reblog.

[daipeanutsaiban]

some family headcanons (in order: van zieks, baskerville, asogi, holmes) not everyone has names yet 🫣💦

i wrote more details under the cut ⬇️ this info can also be viewed under the "tgaa oc guide" in my carrd (linked in my profile).

Holmes

Mycroft: he’s 7 years older than his brother in the ACD canon, but I wanted him to be around the same age as Klint and Lady Baskerville. He and Sherlock are 7 and 15 respectively here. I wanted his hair to be dark and over his eyes so it’d match his cynical attitude that things are about to go bad at any time. Also, it’s a nice contrast to Sherlock’s lightly toasted color, so you could say he got “burnt”. Mycroft usually wears gloves, both because he dislikes touching things directly and because he has a tendency to be dishonest (a classic character design trope - though it’s probably less obvious in a game where almost every character of the upper social classes will wear gloves due to the setting). Mycroft predominantly wears green (next to yellow on the color wheel). Despite his avoidant and anxious behaviours, he has a sharp tongue, and rarely addresses people by their proper title. For someone who wants to avoid trouble, he doesn’t try really hard to fit in due to being a contrarian in that aspect... he’s a genius, but he’s an idiot too (lol).

Sherlock: The most important thing is that he’s recognizable without being dressed identically to his adult self, because he hasn’t come into his own yet (and it would just make no sense). He’s wearing rather nice clothes since the Holmes family belongs to the gentry class, but my friend suggested that his clothes would be dirty often since he’s crawling around trying to “solve cases” all the time, and I really love that idea. His mother is probably despairing about it. Sherlock takes himself very seriously at this age, but of course he says ridiculous things all the time.

Father (unnamed): I wanted the brothers to have a point of reference or inspiration for their creativity with inventions and general resourcefulness, so he’s a toymaker who specializes in automata. Mycroft learned from him for some time until he eventually surpassed him due to his inherent genius, but Sherlock lost interest quickly despite also showing talent. Their father is a friendly man whose work usually keeps busy, and he’s on good terms with his wife. I’m undecided on whether the toy shop should be connected to their house or not.

Mother (unnamed): I really wanted her to look like her youngest son without being an exact replica of him, with a simple and uncomplicated design. She’s a housewife with no other occupation officially, but she’s adept at sewing and often takes on requests from friends and neighbours. She also makes clothes for her husband’s creations, as well as for her children. Will dress up Mycroft and Sherlock in dresses on occasion, sometimes to get back at them for causing trouble and sometimes just to try out designs. Sherlock doesn’t mind it, and neither does Mycroft though he’s annoyed at the “punishment” since it’s usually his brother who ropes him into trouble. Their mother is constantly fatigued by their antics, so I feel a little bad for her (their father is more easygoing, so he doesn’t get as stressed out by their sons). Her relationship with her oldest son was complicated for some time due to his tendency to withdraw from the world, but her youngest helped her understand that his brother does love her in his own ways.

Van Zieks

I tried my best to incorporate angel motifs in their design to reflect Barok’s “fallen angel” motif later in life, hence why his and Klint’s father has white hair for example. The feather lace on their mother’s sleeves was a last minute addition; I think I’ll revisit their designs again soon. Klint wears his hair the same as he does as an adult to keep him recognizable, but I think it’d be funny if when he was very young it was parted on the side and he hated it or something.

Claes: Their father’s name. It’s Dutch and pronounced “Klaus”, but I keep pronouncing it wrong (a little bit on purpose because I like the sound of it spelled out). He has a constant poker face, but he’s actually the most affectionate parent in this entire lineup..! He’s meant to be smiling in the drawing, but a stranger wouldn’t be able to tell. I love characters whose personality subverts our expectations we’d usually have based on their appearance, so he looks and acts very seriously but would rather spend time at home with his family and hates going to work (lol). Also fond of cute, small, and typically “feminine” things, but he keeps that part of him a secret since it’d be frowned upon for a man in this era, especially within the upper class which is all about appearance (his wife is aware of it, though). Maybe that’s why he dotes on his kids so much? He’s very corny as well and has plenty of nicknames for his wife and children, which Klint hated at this age. I also wanted Claes to be the same height as Stronghart, with an imposing build and expression, so that the next authority figure in the brothers’ lives following his death would “fill” the gap he left. But that didn’t end so well, did it...

Evana: Their mother’s name. Similarly to Claes, her personality is meant to subvert her elegant appearance. She’s a complete airhead and once got lost in her own house. Evana is nonetheless stricter than her husband towards her children and puts a lot of emphasis on what is or isn’t proper. She’s in tune with trends and gossip as is expected of a lady in her position, and might come across as superficial to some, but she is very loving. When young Lady Baskerville would visit, she and her future mother-in-law would get along tremendously well (to Klint’s annoyance as he also wanted to spend time with his fiancee but couldn’t relate to most of their conversations). Evana had the most religious faith among the van Zieks, and would encourage virtue, integrity, and nobility of character above all else in her children.

Barok and Klint: Two well-behaved, beloved children. Barok is of course the little darling after all; I think Klint was probably the more rebellious one but became very serious after their parents’ death with all the responsibilities now on his shoulders. That was probably a very lonely period for Barok, until his brother cheered up again.

Baskerville

Primrose (Lady Baskerville): In flower language, her name means “I can’t live without you”. I didn't know this at the time I named her, but it fits the story very well, so thank you to my friend who taught me this! Primrose’s outlook is very unconventional for the era and especially at her young age, but she’s grown disillusioned with her lot in life as well as men following her mother’s death. I wanted her to be the only one in the family to be a redhead to reflect how she’s not fitting the mould with her assertive and brash personality, and how she feels "out of place". Her father dresses her in very impractical, often white dresses to assert his control over her as a form of “love”; to thwart her tendency to sneak out of the house without permission and participate in unladylike activities.

Her and Klint become codependent on each other following his own parents’ passing and promise to marry each other even though Lord Baskerville is set on finding his daughter a suitor with a more stable future.

The woman is her stepmother, and the others are her father and her half-brother. Since I’m working on a project involving all of them, I don’t want to reveal too much about them yet. All I can say is that it’s not a happy home, and no one in particularly close to each other (except the twins, maybe)...

Asogi

Genshin: I imagined he used to be short and got his growth spurt late (shown at around 12 years old here). Genshin looks a lot like Kazuma due to his eyes and nose, but thankfully he has a distinctive hairstyle already. I'd like to think he grows out his hair at around fifteen. The scarf's pattern is meant to evoke snake scales! Sorry for how lazily I drew Karuma here, haha. As for his personality, he has a poker face but I like to think he can be quite mischievous, though not towards his immediate family as the repercussions would be non-negligible. His brother in law, Hiroki, however, is the perfect person to prank since he's both kind and naive. I also imagine it's tradition for every (male) Asogi to dedicate their life to training, though he’d have a bamboo sword instead of Karuma at this age, probably... I wonder how Genshin discovered the hilt trick? If he was a kid or teenager, maybe he hid snacks inside (lol).

Miwa: Genshin’s older sister. She wears men’s clothes most of the time. Being their father’s legitimate child, she was going to inherit the clan despite being a woman until Genshin showed up. With Genshin having the “luck” to resemble his father, as well as being male, their father decided to make him the heir instead. Miwa resents Genshin for taking this chance from her, despite knowing deep down that he is not personally at fault. Still, she is outwardly bitter and dismissive of him, and spites his efforts to become closer to his sister. Miwa is both vain and arrogant while also following a rigid moral code. She distrusts men, most likely due to her father’s treatment, but she also respects her father greatly as a warrior. Miwa displays surprising gentleness towards children and women, namely Genshin’s girlfriend and later wife Yukari. Her abrasive personality mellows out when she becomes a mother herself, but she was unable to repair her relationship with her brother before his death. Since that’s very sad, in modern AUs I like to depict them on better terms.

Hiroki: Miwa’s husband through arranged marriage. Hails from a family of performers; his specialty is traditional dance but he’s skilled in rakugo as well. I wanted a character with a sensitive side, who is in touch with his emotions, to contrast the serious and tense atmosphere of the Asogi clan. Thanks to that side of him, Hiroki gets along well with Yukari who has a similar easygoing and “refreshing” personality. However, Hiroki’s sensitivity creates problems since Miwa is confused by a man exhibiting such behaviours (he’s the type to be moved by beautiful scenery and cry over small animals). Hiroki believes everyone can do good and that most people act from goodness, but for this reason he’s easily tricked- namely by Genshin. Despite amusing himself at his expense (since Genshin is quite clever), Genshin enjoys Hiroki’s company since he’s a very mellow person and doesn’t bring up dreadful topics like inheritance and power and such. Hiroki is surprisingly well-built under his clothes, and his weapon of choice is a naginata. I guess Syoma wanted his son-in-law to be strong..?

Syoma: The central figure in the Asogi household. Still alive during the events of TGAA. A very serious man who accords a lot of importance to honor and tradition to the point it’s stifling. Distant from his children, though Miwa claims Genshin is the favorite. The kind of father to make his children compete to “make them grow”, even though one of them is almost an adult and the other is barely a teenager. Although Genshin was conceived after his late wife’s passing, Syoma sees Genshin as a reminder of his dishonourable actions (mainly due to Genshin’s mother being a prostitute), and thus avoids him despite placing the onus of inheritance upon him. All of that results in a house Genshin doesn’t want to stay in- and contributes to his reasons to go study abroad. In his own twisted way, Syoma loves his children, but he was never meant to be a father, or at least does not know how to parent without a wife’s help (tradition and patriarchy is very much a theme for the whole clan lol). I honestly struggle to write him because the things he says can be very hurtful, especially towards his daughter-in-law. His character is a lot more comedic/nicer in modern AU (think pseudo yakuza with mother hen personality), but so is everyone’s. (it’s very sitcom-like, haha)

Thanks for reading if you made it this far!! This post could be even longer but I decided to spare everyone💗 have a bonus papazieks and children doodle for your time👼💗

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom

I Can’t Stand It

Rosie’s tantrum in the park, reminds Sherlock of his own childhood. It’s strange that so much of what the little girl says and does resonates with him.

“She’s not yours,” several voices inside his head tell him.

Still, he can’t shake off the feeling of being something more to her than just…what is he exactly to her? She calls him Lock; he calls her Watson. He desperately wants her to call him something else, which he only allows himself to think about when he’s alone.

“I can’t stand it, daddy!” Rosie exclaims and stomps her feet.

“But, sweetheart,” John tries to reason with his four-year-old daughter. “You were perfectly fine eating this last week.”

Rosie rolls her eyes and throws her arms in the air. Sherlock can see that John’s mouth twitches slightly as he’s supressing a smile. Sherlock hears his mother’s voice filled with delight in his mind.

“She’s so much like you sometimes, darling.”

“There are big pieces in it,” Rosie explains to John. “I want smooth ice cream.”

John looks over at Sherlock for help, but Sherlock has long ago decided to never lie to John again. He shrugs apologetically and mutters something under his breath.

“What was that, Sherlock?” John inquires, his tone exasperated now.

“It’s quite normal for children her age to change tastes and react to new textures. I was the same.”

“Yeah, well, she’s not…”

“I know, John!” Sherlock snaps. “You and everyone we know keeps telling me that.”

He turns on his heel and walks briskly out of the park. Behind him the two Watsons call after him, begging him to come back but he can’t. Sherlock can live with everyone else claiming that he’s not Rosie’s father, but it hurts when John joins the choir. Of course, Sherlock knows he has no biological connection to her, but he’s raising her together with John, isn’t he? She comes just as willingly to him as to John. 

“Protect your heart, brother mine,” Mycroft told him after John and Rosie moved to Baker Street, and not for the first time. His brother knew that Sherlock’s heart belonged to John and had for a very long time.

***

Where are you? I’m sorry, Sherlock. We need to talk. Are you coming home soon?

Sherlock’s heart races in his chest when he reads John’s text. He barely registers the apology. All his brain is capable of is trying to deduce what John wants to talk about.

Are they moving out? Does John want him to spend less time with Rosie? Won’t he be allowed to do children safe experiments with her anymore?

He pulls his hair in frustration. Why is it so hard to figure out what John wants? Sherlock’s able to read anyone but John. Why?

“Hi, Sherlock. I didn’t know you were here,” Molly says when she walks into the lab at Barts.

“I’m leaving,” Sherlock tells her and walks rapidly out of the room.

***

Sherlock stands and watches the Thames float by. The London Eye is coloured in pink in the far distance. It’s getting dark and he’s got no recollection of the last hours. His phone buzzes in his pocket and he suddenly remembers that he’s forgotten to answer John’s text.

“A bit not good, Sherlock,” John’s voice scolds him.

Can I call you? Rosie wants to say goodnight.

Sherlock feels his face soften. The Watsons are probably still at Baker Street then. He doesn’t hesitate but calls John’s number.

John’s voice sounds relieved when he picks up, but it’s tinted with worry.

“Hi. You alright?” he asks.

“Fine,” Sherlock says, and it comes out more clipped than he intended.

John sighs and apparently gives the phone to Rosie.

“Lock!” the little girl exclaims.

“Hello, Watson. Ready for bed?” Sherlock inquires softly.

“Yes. Tired,” she tells him and yawns.

Sherlock feels his throat thicken, and he must swallow hard and close his eyes to keep his tears at bay. Without thinking he uses the endearment only Rosie has heard.

“Goodnight, my heart.”

“Night, Lock. See you tomorrow,” Rosie slurs, clearly almost asleep.

Sherlock ends the call before John gets a chance to ask him humiliating questions. The sharp intake of breath from John when Sherlock bid Rosie goodnight didn’t go unnoticed.

“You’ve ruined it now, Holmes,” he tells himself.

***

Aldi is still open, and Sherlock buys two boxes of ice cream for Rosie without any pieces of fruit, berries, crunch, chocolate or other abominations.

He takes a deep breath before locking himself into Baker Street, and he ascends the stairs silently. John sits in his chair, reading one of his medical journals. Sherlock just nods and walks to the kitchen with his purchases. He places the boxes in the freezer before walking to the bathroom.

“Sherlock?” John calls after him.

“Shower,” Sherlock answers.

The shower does wonders, and Sherlock feels quite refreshed and relaxed when he puts on a t-shirt, pyjamas bottoms and his maroon dressing gown. John stands just outside Sherlock’s bedroom and Sherlock startles a bit.

“Everything alright?” he asks. “Watson?”

“She’s fine, Sherlock. Soundly asleep. I just want to apologise properly to you. I was way out of line earlier. No, Sherlock, listen. I need to say this. Please.”

John’s expression is pained, and Sherlock doesn’t know what’s to come next. Nothing could have prepared him for this.

“I know it’s no excuse that I was exhausted and sleep deprived, but that’s the defence I have, and it’s appalling to say the least. Rosie…she is…just as much yours as she is mine. You care for her just like any parent. She loves you, we both do, and…”

“John?” 

Sherlock’s voice is trembling, and he feels his balance is about to fail him. Warm and steady hands are placed on his upper arms and when John speaks again, his voice is warm with affection.

“Forgive me. Please?”

Sherlock just nods and lets himself melt in John’s embrace.

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

[lokijiro]

Sherlock, by nature, requires far more human contact than Mycroft does. But Sherlock has idolized his brother to such a degree that he didn't simply try to keep up with him on an intellectual level; he also tried to emulate the personal distance that Mycroft has from others.

And Mycroft encouraged that. He genuinely thought that it would protect his little brother from being hurt.

In ASIB, when he apologizes to Sherlock for driving him into Irene's path, I think what he means is that he should have known. He is sharply reminded that his brother is vulnerable to getting involved with people.

And then Irene informs them of how Moriarty calls them "the Ice Man and the Virgin", which suggests that unlike Mycroft, who truly manages to distance himself from humanity, Sherlock is simply inexperienced. And Sherlock actually looks mortified when she says that; he is usually quite indifferent to people's comments about his sexuality, but here Irene is essentially saying that Sherlock wants people right in front of Mycroft. And even though he would never admit it, Sherlock very obviously cares about his brother's opinion of him. And that's when Sherlock makes his grand "sentiment?" "love is a chemical defect found on the losing side" speech; the speech is of course meant to tear down Irene, but it's also meant for the ears of Mycroft. And Mycroft is alarmed (the shooting script mentions that he is concerned about the way Sherlock got the victory). Did schooling Sherlock about the disadvantage of caring truly do him good?

Well, in any case, despite Sherlock loudly announcing that he now got the final proof that love is a disadvantage, Mycroft knows better than to think that Irene just stopped mattering to him. That's not how his brother's heart works. As shown when he meets John in the cafe, he sees that Sherlock has chosen a profession that would get him involved with people far more personally than his own occupation does, and that says everything (although Sherlock is not conscious of this).

[rnnsdrms]

TELL ME, DO YOU FEEL THE LOVE?

DEAREST READER. i was supposed to publish moriarty brothers’ first but remembered that the 5th and 6th of january was mycroft and sherlock’s birthday! to celebrate their birthdays, and also the return of moriarty the patriot manga, i decided to write a little something ! if you like my work, consider treating me a coffee. it means a lot !

CONTENT SUMMARY. basically how the holmes brothers shows their love for you. this is based on a - z sfw alphabet challenge and this is the a for affection part ! so, THERE IS NO SMUT. i wrote this with female! reader in mind + sherlock is implied to be taller + mention of ‘queen’ in mycroft’s part.

CHARACTERS. mycroft holmes, sherlock holmes.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 SHERLOCK HOLMES

music to listen to as you read: i wanna be yours

Sherlock being affectionate is, perhaps, one of life’s rarest phenomena–something you never expected to witness and experience firsthand. The man, by all accounts, is crude, aloof, and generally unlikeable to most. But not to you. Somehow, in a way he does not quite understand, you have managed to see beyond the sharp edges and impossible arrogance. You will say, in a teasing tone, “It’s a part of your charm,” and Sherlock, in his endlessly logical mind, is half-convinced that there must be a small dent somewhere in your delicate skull for finding him admirable. And although he would not like to admit it, it was a good enough reason for him to return your kind disposition.

He has never cared about public opinion, but when it comes to you, it is a different story entirely. Your thoughts of him matter more than they should, more than he ever anticipated. Only in these moments that he becomes the accused, and you are his honourable judge. Words that fall from your lips–whether they are gentle praises or sharp criticisms–hit him harder than anyone’s insult about him ever could, carving every syllable into his mind like a new scripture he should abide by. What you think of him is vital, necessary, as crucial as air to his lungs. So, he listens, often with his head down in contemplation. For the first time in his life, he lets someone mold him into a shape that befits a certain vision—your vision. Because he knows that with your guiding hand, he can transition from a good man to a better man.

But Sherlock is far from a traditional Victorian gentleman. There is no flair for romantic chivalry, no polished manners or well-practiced charm to sweep you off your feet. And he knows this–he knows he lacks the grace and poise most would expect from a man in love. But what he lacks in gentlemanly qualities, he compensates for tenfold with the precision of his sharp intellect, which he dedicates entirely toward easing your life’s burdens.

When crisis unfolds, Sherlock steps onto the scene with his usual calm authority, a quiet grace that steadies the chaos around him–which in this case, the chaos is usually you. To the outside world, he is seen as the blade of reason, but beneath that steely exterior, he watches out for you, always. Anything that troubles you naturally becomes his burden to bear. Your worries are his worries, and his detective instincts won’t let him rest until he has unraveled the knot of your hardship. His mind sharpens into focus, meticulously piercing together solutions, knowing that once he is able to solve it, your relief–that gleam in your eyes as you pull him down to kiss him–will be his greatest prize. He often says he works best alone, but this time, he strives to be a partner you can lean on. For Sherlock, love is not solely about roses or sweeping gestures; it is about showing up in the way he knows best. It is in the way he says, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it. You know I always do,” that makes you feel safe in a world that often feels anything but.

While he might be a man not possessing great ambitions, he does, however, aims to be the best partner you will ever have. Good is no longer good enough. He longs for your recognition, your acknowledgment of his efforts, no matter how significant or simple they might be. And when you give it to him–when your eyes light up at something he has done or your words affirm his care–he practically glows, like a happy child, even if he hides it beneath that trademark smirk you know so well.

Sherlock holds your individuality with reverence, and loves the way you shine differently among the other ladies. He loves the way you tell him random facts about life, the way you bombard him with a lot of questions that he is only too happy to answer, or the way you try to prove him wrong even if you always fail. It comforts him to know that he sees himself in you, that you are just as stubborn as he is. When you achieve success, it sparks something within him that he cannot suppress: pride. Though he won’t erupt in grand applause, you can still catch the tender radiance in his eyes when he holds your gaze, a small smile forming on one edge of his lips. His praise comes in soft, sincere words. “I knew you could do it, honey. I never doubted you for a second.”

Sherlock may not always get it right. He stumbles, he overthinks, and sometimes his temper gets the better of him. But in those moments when he catches you smiling—really, truly smiling—he swears it’s all worth it.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 MYCROFT HOLMES

music to listen to as you read: young and beautiful

People who do not have the pleasure of knowing him will never know how this cold, stoic man is actually a hidden walking-green-flag on earth. When you first met him, you thought he exuded a daunting and untouchable aura, a common characteristic you find in men who wanted to steer themselves clear of any romantic alliances. Of course, that didn’t stop him from looking desirable in the eyes of many women–including yours. In the end, by some strange luck or fate, you piqued his curiosity, held his attention, and the next thing you know, he has got himself wrapped around your little finger of his own will. Everything that he does never fails to surprise you, in a way that makes you think, ‘I didn’t think he would be this kind.’

Because, as it turns out, here is a man who has been anointed with the title of a provider. Mycroft does not just give, because he knows that is what any respectable good man is supposed to do. He provides with purpose, with intention, with an almost acute type of meticulousness that mirrors every other part of his life. Yes, his wallet is loaded, but he is not the kind to randomly shower you with expensive gifts or empty sweet words. His generosity is calculated, deliberate–every act of giving is carefully chosen to mean something. When Mycroft decides to give you something, he wants his gifts to be of use to you. He likes gifting you your favourite brand of personal care products or that specific perfume with a scent he likes so much that he thinks you should spray them on your skin again.

A romantic dinner? He won’t spoil it with unnecessary fanfare or lengthy explanations. Instead, he will step into your space, gently disrupting whatever it is you are doing, place an elegant outfit in your hands, and simply say, “Wear this. I’m taking you to dinner tonight.” No further explanation needed, because the evening will speak for itself. You only have the highest regard for his immaculate tastes, for it never once disappoints you. You can trust that he has chosen only the finest restaurant, a place where every detail–the ambience, the wine, the food–meets his impossibly high standards. For Mycroft, perfection is not luxury; it is a necessity when it comes to you. This is his kingdom, and you are his queen.

He is not one to smother you in repeated declarations of love. In fact, the word “I love you” rarely ever leaves his mouth. But when it does leave his lips, it strikes a chord deeper in you than the most lavish gift or flowery phrase. Mycroft doesn’t simply say I love you. Little do you know, even these three words tugs at every string of his core, threatening to undo him. There was something about the word ‘love’ that strips him bare, and with the combination of your soft gaze on him when the word teethers in the edge of his lips, Mycroft realises he is not as formidable as he thought. He is not above love after all–while the word itself gives him the power to live his days, it was, at the same time, his bane, knowing that the word itself resonates with your name. So, he often rephrases them with other words: “I will take you home,” “What would you like to eat? I’ll pay.” “Is everything alright?”–are the words that decorate your days. And you understand that those words, spoken in his low, steady tone, are his heart laid at your feet.

Publicly, Mycroft is all composure, all restraint. Mycroft is known for his headstrong manner and his solemn words, but watch him listen and obey the second words leave your mouth, for he knows that you care for him, and only have the best of intentions for him. He may not indulge in the frivolity of public displays of affection. But behind closed doors? He is a different man entirely. In private, your existence becomes his gravity, pulling him away from his mountain of work, reminding him to rest. He may need you to distract him, but other times, he will find you himself. You are the soft chaos in his carefully structured world–the calm after the storm–and it’s exactly what he needs. His hands envelop your frame without hesitation, tracing the edges of your presence like he is memorising you all over again.

Mycroft is far from being a master in the kitchen or a patron of words, but he will always save the best slice of food for you. Watching you savour something delicious—shaking your head in delight and doing a small dance—becomes one of his simplest, purest joys. It’s in these moments that his carefully guarded walls lower, letting himself bask in the quiet and intoxicating joy of loving you.

RNNSDRMS ©. SUPPORT WRITERS BY REBLOGGING THEIR WORK. DO NOT PLAGIARIZE, TRANSLATE, OR POST MY WORKS ON ANY SITE. I WILL POST MY POSTS ON OTHER SOCIAL MEDIA SITES MYSELF AND THAT’S ALL YOU GET.

[meetinginsamarra]

Fanfics I Really Liked in November 2024

So. Since I keep a list of what I´ve read anyway (there´s always a list), I will rec all the fics I´ve wholly enjoyed on a monthly basis. Old and new, canon or AU, big or small authors, long or short but nearly always Johnlock (-ish).

++++

Sine Nomine by SilentAuror @silentauroriamthereal

As Mycroft reviews the footage from Culverton Smith's morgue, he revisits his original question: whether John Watson would be the making of his brother, or make him worse than ever. He's come to a conclusion, but decides to give John one last chance. So he gives him a choice.

A suspenseful S4 fix-it with a fearsome Mycroft, John's redemption arc and some surprises. Happy ending, of course!

Shallow Grave by SilentAuror @silentauroriamthereal

Starts as Sherlock's plane is taking off at the end of His Last Vow. When he finds out that Moriarty is alive and that he's being recalled from his mission, Sherlock decides that he should have told John how he felt before he left. So he walks off the plane and kisses him.

HLV fix-it with lots of pining and misunderstandings and a happy ending!

My, She Was Yar by blueink3

YAR: adjective (nautical term, of a sailboat) agile, quick, easily manoeuvred

Or, the exact opposite of what Sherlock Holmes is when he stumbles into John Watson's cinema and turns his life upside down.

Lovely different first meeting with a bit of hurt/comfort!

The Skin Over My Heart by standbygo @blogstandbygo

Sherlock and John are still trying to adjust to Sherlock's return from his hiatus when John's friend Bill Murray brings them a case. Someone is targeting the LGBTQA+ members of Bill's unit. John and Sherlock go undercover at the unit, but when they end up having to flirt to flush out the suspect, Sherlock realizes he's in over his head.

Fake boyfriends for a case is always a good start for friends to lovers. LOL

Whispers of Highgate by standbygo @blogstandbygo

During his hiatus, Sherlock is chased into the Paris Catacombs, with unexpected consequences.

A little bit of spookyness and a twist at the end!

Christmas Lights by emma221b

It's tough being homeless, especially at Christmas. When Sherlock finds himself cold and alone on the streets of London, he can see no way back. What he needs now is one more miracle, and he might just be about to find it - even if it's not the one that he thinks that he wants.

I love this young Sherlock and the tragic backstory that made him go homeless. Mycroft is a good big brother. Hurt/comfort.

[holmesianlove]

Chapter 14 - Proposal

John came trudging down the stairs, hair scruffy, face contorted from the light which instantly hurt his sorry head. He was getting too old to go out late at night and drink like that.

Sherlock was sitting in his leather chair, reading. “How are you feeling, John?”

“A bit rough. Sorry about that,” John moaned in reply. He walked over and flopped into his comfortable chair opposite. 

“Not your fault,” Sherlock replied, not even looking up from his book. “I may have moved too quickly.”

John sat staring at his friend. Did he mean the drinks or something else? It was an odd turn of phrase to use. Last night had been peculiar to say the least. John hadn’t consumed so much beer in a short space of time in… well he couldn’t think how long it had been. Certainly never on an empty stomach, in any case, and he was incredibly embarrassed with his behaviour. Had he�� sniffed Sherlock’s coat? He’d definitely said something stupid, or a few things, although the memory of it was very foggy. The combination of being found in his underwear and then getting drunk on a few beers and… god they danced? They bloody danced. What kind of a messed up night was that? He rubbed his hands over his face, trying to gain some semblance of sanity, to wake up a bit and then finally looked at Sherlock properly.

He was fully dressed. He looked showered and dressed, in fact. One of his nice black suits and a crisp white shirt, just open enough to show off his collar bones and suddenly John’s eyes couldn’t look anywhere else and it startled him. He blinked a few times, taking in his flatmate. His hair looked particularly good and he just looked healthy and relaxed in general. Refreshed even.

“You look very put together,” he heard himself say, before he could stop the words tumbling out.

Sherlock closed his book and placed it on his lap, sitting a little straighter.

“I have a proposal, John. For you.”

“A what?!” John nearly swallowed his own tongue. His eyes had blown wide and he was very confused.

“There’s a new case. My brother wants me to look into something and I’d like you to come with me.” Sherlock was watching John carefully.

John let out a heavy sigh of relief. God, he needed coffee. His brain wasn’t alert enough yet to wade through Sherlock’s cryptic ways. The word proposal had most definitely terrified him instantly. “Another one? We only just had a break,” John said as he sighed heavily. 

“What’s that expression? When it rains it pours?” Sherlock offered with a smirk.

“Right. Why do you look nervous then? You never look nervous when there’s a case on,” John asked, eyeing him suspiciously. When Sherlock didn’t respond, John continued on. “I usually come with you. Don’t I? Why is this one any different?”

“It’s in Belgium,” he said carefully. 

“Belgium?!” John was surprised. They rarely travelled outside the country. 

“Yes. An old friend of Mycroft’s had a theft from his estate in Brussels and asked for me to come. I have a suspicion it’s not as interesting as they’ve led me to believe but they booked us a first class train fare themselves so I thought a couple of days in Brussels wouldn’t be so terrible.”

“And you want me to come - even though you’ve already surmised it’s not worth your time?” John’s senses tingled. Something wasn’t right. 

“Well, I’d be lost without my blogger,” he teased. “Might as well pass the time with company.”

“I see.” John didn’t really see. This was all highly irregular. “What’s Mycroft holding over you then?”

Sherlock gasped, a dramatic overreaction to John’s words with an open mouthed gape.

“I can’t see why you would give this the time of day otherwise,” John added in explanation.

“Boredom is a cruel mistress, John. All my poorest decisions have come about thanks to boredom. We have no other cases waiting. I thought it might be… fun?” He tried the word out and then frowned.

“Fun?” John looked confused by that word passing Sherlock’s lips too.

Sherlock stood up, lifting the book from his lap and taking it over to return it to his shelves. Even John knew it was a diversionary tactic. Sherlock never said the wrong thing. He was very deliberate in his communications - be they kind or biting. He always meant it. Fun, was a word John had never heard as justification for Sherlock Holmes doing anything. And Sherlock knew it too. John felt responsible for the slightly awkward mood between them, so he tried to think of a way to reassure his friend. They were supposed to be moving on from yesterday.

“What time do we leave?” he asked.

Sherlock turned from the bookshelf, looking grateful for the redirect.

“Eleven.”

“Right then,” John said, slapping the arms of his chair before standing up. “Coffee is going to be required and a shower.”

Sherlock looked a bit uncertain. “Are you… really okay with this?”

“The game is on, Sherlock Holmes. And I follow where you go,” he said brightly, straightening his shoulders. “I’ll go up and throw a few things together and have a shower. If you make me a strong coffee and some toast? So we aren’t late?” John suggested.

Sherlock smiled ever so slightly. “Those terms are acceptable.”

“Good. I’ll meet you in the kitchen shortly,” he said with a nod and took himself back up to his room. He had an overnight bag for just these types of occasions in the top of his cupboard. It was common for them to head to the far north or the south just for a day or two. John had a standard few outfits he threw in for such occasions, he was predictable like that. Boring, John. You’re boring. Sherlock hates predictable. Maybe you should throw in a curve ball? Something new. He looked through his wardrobe and smiled, adding something different to the mix. He added a pair of nice shoes too. He even had a toiletries bag set up with what he needed already waiting in his cupboard so he grabbed that as well and he threw his coat on top of it all.

Then, he grabbed something comfortable to wear for the train and brought himself down to the bathroom. As he passed the kitchen, Sherlock was happily sorting the toast and coffee, and he was humming away to himself. Humming? John was struck by it. He wasn’t sure he’d heard Sherlock hum before. Occasionally when he was playing his violin, or writing music as he played, making adjustments. But humming for the sake of humming - while doing other tasks? Never. Despite all of the mess of yesterday, Sherlock was in good spirits. John wished he could let things go that easily, and just enjoy each day as a fresh, new start. He had never been good at that.

He showered quickly, and dressed, eager to get to the coffee, but also to get out to Sherlock which surprised him. It felt like something had shifted last night, and John wasn’t even sure what that might be, but he was eager to be close to him, to hear about the case, to tease out more information from his flatmate.

When he finally came out, Sherlock was seated at the kitchen table. He had actually scrambled some eggs as well and had a whole pot of the fancy filtered coffee brewed in the middle of the table. He was reading the newspaper, the pages sprawled across half the table, and was nibbling on a piece of toast, seemingly oblivious to John’s arrival.

“Wow. Eggs as well. And… you’re eating?” he asked, looking surprised. 

“Occasionally I’ve been known to,” he quipped without registering John at all, continuing to read, or at least pretending to read.

John sat down and poured himself a coffee. “Well, in any case, thank you. I certainly need this and I didn’t have the energy.”

“My pleasure. I’m not always the difficult flatmate,” he commented.

John stopped with his mug halfway to his mouth and put it down again. “Sherlock.” He tilted his head in disapproval. “I don’t think that.”

Sherlock still remained focused on the paper so John reached out and put his hand on the paper, flattening it to the table and leaning forward to catch his eye. “I don’t think that,” he repeated. Sherlock maintained his gaze for a moment before returning his piece of toast to the plate and grabbing his knife and fork to eat, busying himself so he didn’t have to make a fuss. 

John watched him for a moment before grabbing his own cutlery. “I know I don’t say it. But… living here… with you, Sherlock. It’s the greatest privilege. Getting to be your offsider on the cases, having a… a friend in my life I can rely on. It’s… well, it means a great deal more to me than I probably have the words to explain to you. At least, to do it justice,” he admitted. “I should tell you more often and I regret the things I said last night. You’re my friend. You’re my best friend. And you’re not difficult.” He paused, letting the words settle in the air between them. Sherlock had paused his cutlery and was staring at his plate, unmoving. The words had caught him by surprise and even John hadn’t expected them to come out.

“I had no idea I could be so poetic with a hangover,” he finally joked, to break the tension.

Sherlock, scoffed and continued to focus on his eggs in silence. After a few more minutes eating silently he finally looked up at John. “Thank you,” he said, surprising John. He also looked up and they held each other’s attention for a moment.

“Not a problem,” John said. “We don’t need fanfares, Sherlock. We just are. We’re Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.” He smiled and Sherlock’s face changed to an odd expression that John couldn’t read all of a sudden. He opened his mouth to say something and then reverted back to eating. 

John watched him a bit longer, in case the thought came back, but he didn’t come back to it, so they remained in silence for a time. 

Eventually, Sherlock, obviously feeling like it was the time for meaningful conversation, looked up at John. “Why do you…” He hesitated and grabbed his coffee, to sip at it nervously. “Last night. The man on the street that bothered you… Why do you always engage with that nonsense?”

“Why don’t you?” John asked, watching Sherlock closely.

“They don’t know us. They know nothing about us. What they think of us matters not to me, John. The only opinions I care about, are yours and… Well, that’s pretty much it, actually. Perhaps Mrs Hudson, depending on the moment. My parents, obviously, but they often misunderstand me, as does my brother. So long as I keep your good opinion, I can carry on with most things,” Sherlock said simply. As if that should be obvious. As if saying it meant nothing.

“Well,” John sighed in disbelief. “I feel the same.”

“Exactly. So what point is there arguing with some stranger who knows nothing about what I’ve been through in my life, or you in yours, or what we go through collectively together in our work and our day to day lives? You always have to correct people. Even people close to us, who know perfectly well we aren’t a couple and are only teasing. You never miss a moment correcting them, though. Don’t you think it only draw attention to the very thing you are trying to push away.”

John’s brow furrowed. “It bothers you? That I correct people, when they’re wrong?” John asked. “You love to correct people, Sherlock. I didn’t realise it would bother you.”

Sherlock stood to collect up their plates. “I just wondered why you felt the need. That’s all.”

“Well, because, it isn’t true. I’m not your boyfriend. We’re not… you know… it’s just incorrect information.” John was slightly put out that he was justifying something which made sense in his own head. “You’re a public figure.”

“And?” Sherlock asked.

“And, they should get their information right,” John said with a self-satisfied nod, finishing his coffee.

“You have an issue, John. With homosexuals,” Sherlock stated, placing the dishes in the sink and keeping his back to John, so he could say what he wanted to say.

“No, I don’t.” John was offended by the statement, and he sat up straighter, his hackles up immediately.

“I think you do. Between all of that correcting, and all the anger you seem to have over this last case,” he commented.

“What do you mean?” John was suddenly very perturbed by this line of conversation. Sherlock turned around at the sink. “You’ve been having feelings, opinions about this victim - the fact that he married a man. It bothered you. Why?”

John stood up, to bring his mug over, and to get rid of the nervous energy now coursing through him from Sherlock’s questions. “I… It’s just…”

“When we met,” Sherlock jumped in to say, “and you grilled me about my person circumstances—“

“Would we call that a grilling? When you didn’t answer anything properly?”

“I certainly would. You had a lot of questions for a first day together.”

“You were being awfully mysterious.”

“I don’t like to share.”

“And I have trust issues. I’m sure your brother passed on his reports. I need to know things.”

“But why was my… sexual proclivities… relevant to your living arrangement?”

“I just wanted to know if… you know, you would be coming and going with partners, or if… I don’t know really. I was making conversation, just curious?” he offered.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “And at the time you said it was all okay. That everything was fine. But what if I had said I was… gay? What if I had confirmed that for you?”

John shuffled his feet uncomfortably. “Well, then I’d have known. And…”

“And you… never actually reciprocated. You didn’t tell me anything about yourself,” Sherlock pointed out.

“It’s only reciprocating if you provide an answer too, isn’t it?”

“John.” Sherlock warned him. He wasn’t letting this go. And John was being deliberately stubborn.

“Well you said so yourself. I’m not gay. I spend a lot of time telling people I’m not gay.”

“You really do. What’s that thing Queen Gertrude says in Hamlet: methinks the lady doth protest too much?”

“You think I’m gay?” John scoffed, slightly horrified.

“No. I’m just… asking,” Sherlock said gently. “Just as you tried to.”

John frowned and looked at his watch nervously. “I don’t really see why this is so important right now.”

“I’m just… making conversation with my flatmate, as were you. There’s nothing strange about that, is there? Or so you say. You’re a very closed book, John.”

John sighed and leaned back against the counter now as well, rubbing a hand over his face. He kept a safe distance from Sherlock, but felt very acutely that his flatmate was trying to gleen information, and perhaps repair some of the mess of the day before. “Look, I just don’t… feel comfortable. With any of it, okay?” he finally admitted. “I come from a catholic upbringing, and I had two very conservative parents who tortured my sister into running away because she brought a girl home one day and mum caught them kissing. It was like they had found out she murdered a bloody priest. Honest to god. And back then… you know, things weren’t as free and open as they are now. I just learned to keep my business to myself. Am I gay? No. That is accurate. It doesn’t describe me. When I say that, it is accurate,” John sighed. He already felt a blush rising up his neck as the words were coming out of him. “But have I been with men? Yes, casually. I don’t believe anyone is just so black and white are they? There’s grey areas for most people. The Kinsey scale and all that? I have some grey areas, okay? But I don’t like to talk about it. And it’s nobody’s business but my own. I choose not to make it public. And now, living with you, apparently people can’t handle two grown men living together without it being sexual. It irritates the hell out of me. I don’t want you thinking at any moment I’m planning to jump you. You’re my friend and I don’t want anything to ruin that. It’s the first time in my life I’ve had a proper friend. So yes, I’m jumpy about it. I don’t want you thinking it’s true.” He sighed and paced the kitchen floor to get rid of the adrenaline after all that confessing. “And as for the married man? The dead married man?” He stopped pacing to look at Sherlock. “I suppose, I’m a bit… jealous.”

“Jealous?” Sherlock was genuinely surprised by that answer.

“Yes. He just… did that. He wanted to marry a woman so he did and then he decided to also marry a man and so he did. And it was legal - aside from the whole polygamy part, but in essence he was allowed to marry that man. And growing up, that wasn’t even an option.” “John, homosexuality has been legal since the 1960s here,” Sherlock said calmly.

“But marriage, Sherlock, marriage hasn’t been, until so recently. It’s something I just decided was not happening and it made me angry that not only was he allowed to do it, but he flaunted it by also marrying three woman and just ruining all of their lives. It’s infuriating. Think of all the men who had been desperate to marry and haven’t been able to.” John’s voice wavered. “One of my very good friends from my time in Afghanistan lost his partner before marriage was decriminalised and it… still enrages me.”

“Oh. John, I had… I had no idea. I’m sorry. I most definitely misunderstood your thoughts on this.” Sherlock seemed genuine. “You were so uncomfortable in the club. Last night. I thought….”

“What? You mean, seeing my very best friend, who has never explicitly explained to me where he falls on that line, took me to a gay club and for all intents and purposes flirted with a very young barman, in front of me, and then behaved in a very confusing manner all round. You’re wondering why I was a bit uncomfortable?”

Sherlock sighed. “Perhaps I could have handled that better.”

“Sherlock, I’m proud to be your friend. I should be so lucky to be able to date someone like you, if I ever felt comfortable enough to do so in public. You’re the most fantastic human I know.” He turned to look at Sherlock, square on. “Those emotions, those issues you’re picking up on? They aren’t about you. They aren’t about me discriminating about you. They are wholly about my upbringing and my issues with my own identity. I’m not ready to be all public and confident - whether it’s real or imagined.” John reached out and touched Sherlock’s arm. “You’re my best friend. The very best.”

Sherlock gave a half smile and looked at his feet uncomfortably. “Thank you. For telling me all of that.”

“I’m sorry, I’ve been upsetting you, by keeping it to myself. It wasn’t my intention. Some days I’m just trying to get from start to finish and I don’t think about it, but other days it’s an all consuming mess in my head.”

“You still seeing your therapist?” Sherlock asked gently.

“I am.”

“Good.”

“Are we… okay?” John asked, suddenly feeling incredibly uncomfortable. 

“Yes. Of course.” Sherlock gave him a reassuring nod. They stood together awkwardly in silence for a moment, though.

“Shall I… call for a cab?” John suggested.

“Please,” Sherlock said with a smile. “Half an hour? I’ll just clean these dishes up and grab my things.”

“Okay.” John left the kitchen and grabbed his phone, walking up to collect his bag. He sat on the bed and let out a huge long sigh. God, that was a mess. What was that about?

Sherlock, meanwhile, stood in the kitchen, staring at the floor for the longest time. This just got far messier than I had even predicted.

——-

The two of them sat in the cab in complete silence. The awkward moments between them apparently a new and uncomfortable part of their friendship which John was not thrilled about. This time, John didn’t try to make conversation. And Sherlock didn’t have anything to utter either. John’s mind was working overtime though. All of the thoughts that had bothered him all week, in his own head, in his own stupid brain… and now Sherlock had called out most of them. Out loud. In the bloody kitchen over breakfast clean up, no less. Things John never wanted to say aloud. In a way, he felt better that he had said them. Maybe Sherlock could understand him better. For what purpose, he had no idea. He couldn’t understand how it would help, but Sherlock had seemed slightly relieved? Or at least less annoyed.

“Got the tickets?” John asked suddenly, out of habit. He was annoyed that he had been the one to break the standoff. Probably too late to check anyway, if Sherlock had forgotten them. But Sherlock never forgot them. He never forgot anything. That bloody mind palace. One of the very reasons John kept some of his opinions and thoughts to himself - certainly the more personal ones. No matter, now Sherlock could lock some nice personal new information into that mind palace to bring up later at a time that would embarrass John appropriately, for sure.

“Mmmm,” was all Sherlock replied to him with.

John nodded and went back to observing the scenery.

When they arrived at the station, Sherlock paid the cab and jumped out without a word, already starting his big strides towards St Pancras. John, as usual, had to leg it around the back of the cab and jog up the steps to keep up. But he didn’t argue. He didn’t shout. He just followed. John always followed Sherlock, wherever the detective led. And therein lay the danger.

—— 

Sorry these have been a bit late the last couple of days! I’m still making it before the end of the day at my end - just!!! I’m impressed with myself that I am still going. Thank you everyone for the lovely comments - it spurs me on to write the next chapter for you all!! 

@lisbeth-kk @helloliriels @totallysilvergirl @221beloved @safedistancefrombeingsmart 

@givemesherbet-blog-blog @naefelldaurk @a-victorian-girl @phoenix27884 @peanitbear 

@starlitkeys @lumilama @yorkiepug @talkativeanxiousturtle @kettykika78 

@kittenmadnessandtea @whatnext2020 @egregiously-chuffed @chriscalledmesweetie @catlock-holmes

@battledress @kholkate @randomquadballpun @little-owls-things @daltongraham 

@sillygirlsmindpalace @oetkb12 @odditiesandeverything @johnlockficclub @rainstarboii @bheadhe

@hospitableasacactus @wssh13 @br-nz @solarmama-plantsareneat @givemesherbet-blog-blog

@dw91165 @pileofstardust2106 @moonkeller @surprisinglyokay @r4venlyn 

@therealalexisamess-blog @e-b1838 @rhasima @salmonsown @tropelovingpainter 

@westandforships @fuck-off-watson-rp @notjustamumj @marta-bee @melodious-me

[lazydoodlesandfanfic]

Keeping Quiet (Sherlock & Mycroft X Deaf!Brother!Reader) *PLATONIC

Characters: Sherlock & Mycroft X Deaf!Brother!Reader

Universe: Sherlock

Warnings: Severe bullying, injuries, turf burn, mention of violence

Request: Hi, can I request?, a Holmes brother fic, where reader is their youngest brother who is in high school/university getting bullied bc their disability(mute/deaf) and how their deal with that situation, I kinda want reader to be a ball of sunshine who always smile but are sad inside and although they can see through his smile, they struggle to find a way to help them. 🥺

Your life from the get go has always been a little harder than other kids your age. For one, you were the youngest Holmes, which wasn’t necessarily a problem, though when you were born your eldest brother had already graduated university, and your other brother was a teenager not far from leaving school. With their own unique personalities, they struggled to connect you immediately, and you didn’t see them much as a young child. However, since starting Secondary school, they had become a bit more involved, especially since you had moved in with your eldest brother so you could attend a good school that was closer to him, however, you were still mostly by yourself, especially since how work driven both your brother’s were. Oh yeah, and the other thing that made your life a little harder- you were deaf. 

A silent world was all you had known since birth, and because of that, you didn’t have to adjust to any change, instead you just learned to do things differently, like when trying to cross a road on a corner, you’d look at those around you to see if they were going to cross, knowing that if the road was clear and they didn’t move, they could hear a car coming. You never had speech therapy growing up, and since when growing up your parents and brothers always communicated with you with sign language, you never used your voice. To you, your hands were your voice, and the thing in your throat that let you make noises was only for dire emergencies to get immediate attention. 

Right now, you were convinced this wasn’t an emergency, but you had the overwhelming urge to just scream as hard as you can. You wanted so badly to be heard, but feared backlash, either from your peers of your issues being perceived as fake or not nowhere near as bad as you felt they were, or backlash from the people who were making you feel like this. 

You’d just gotten home from school, and you entered as quietly as you could, closing the door briskly and looking around, not sure if Mycroft was home, and you didn’t want to see him right now. You closed the front door, looking at the empty coat hook where you’d usually place your coat, except you didn’t have it with you, so instead you just kicked off your shoes and tried to head to your bedroom with your school bag. However, for obvious reasons, you hadn’t heard Mycroft and Sherlock bickering in the other room, or that they had promptly stopped when the front door shut loudly from how quickly you had shut, followed by your footsteps through the house at an accelerated rate to your bedroom, and the noise of your door being shut just as quickly as the front door. The two brothers stood in silence, staring in the direction of the noises before turning to face each other. “Something’s wrong.” Sherlock spoke up. 

“I’m aware of that.” Mycroft scoffed, before they began to walk to go up the stairs. Sherlock stopped at the bottom though, though Mycroft continued up. Sherlock checked the entrance of the house, noticing your lack of coat, either meaning you were still wearing it or didn’t have it, and the droplets of water on the floor, as well as your school shoes being shiny and darker than usual, told him it was the latter. It hadn’t rained in the last hour. He finally followed after Myrcoft, who was already trying your door, though it was locked. He turned to Sherlock, and Sherlock’s eyes followed the wet droplet stains in the carpet to your door. “He’s locked himself inside.” Mycroft pointed out.

“Give me your credit card.” Sherlock demanded. Mycroft went into his back pocket, grabbing his wallet and going through it to hand him a card, before Sherlock shoved him out of the way, sliding the card through the door, pushing the lock out, and when it clicked open, he turned the handle opened the door enough to stick his hand in, reaching for the light switch, flicking the lights on and off in your room to get your attention. He didn’t get a reaction from you. No multiple knocks to signify he could enter, and not a singular knock for him not to come in. He waited another moment, before looking at Mycroft who at this point looked worried, fist pressed to his mouth. Sherlock opened the door further.

They didn’t see you when they first stepped into the room, but Sherlock noticed your school bag- wet through, soaking the carpet, dirty, the zip busted, a strap broken, several school books looking ready to fall out after being crammed in that were soggy and ruined. With that, he knew where you were- the small bathroom attached to your room. He walked to the shut door, trying the door, finding this one unlocked, and he slowly stepped in, looking down and to the side, seeing you sat on the floor, legs pulled to your chest, head resting on your knees. 

“Mycroft, go make tea.” Sherlock said monotone, not taking his eyes away from you. Mcroft, who had noticed your bag and was trying to find anything to salvage, stood up straight, processing the situation, before turning and leaving the room. Sherlock slowly entered the bathroom, kneeling down before sitting on the floor beside you, carefully reaching out, lightly tugging on your soaked and dirty school jumper to get your attention. You peeked up, making eye contact, your eyes red and as wet as your uniform. Sherlock didn’t need to ask what happened, and you didn’t need him going on a revenge campaign in your honour, at least not yet. Instead, he signed ‘I’ll run you a hot bath, and you get undressed. Are you hurt?” You sniffed, signing a yes, before you started to take off your jumper, pulling it over your head, and Sherlock’s eyes immediately took notice of the wet white material that had stains of red on your arms, and as he looked closer, he saw your hands, and presumably your forearms as well were scraped up and red raw. Sherlock took your jumper from you, standing up, before signing to you again. “Drop them just outside the door when you’re done.” He said, turning to the bath, plugging the drain, and turning on the taps, before leaving the room, shutting the door behind him.

Mycroft arrived shortly after with a tray, cup of tea and snacks as well, placing it on your bedside table. “What happened?” Mycroft asked. 

“He’s been bullied. I’m not sure what happened, maybe he tried to bring up what was happening or tried to stand up for himself, but it escalated outside of school- his uniform needs to be cleaned and died- where’s your first aid, he’s scraped up as well.” Sherlock listed. Mycroft’s mouth open and closed repeatedly, before he spoke. 

“I-I didn’t know.” He stuttered. “He never… he never told me he was having issues at school. I had no idea.” He explained, and Sherlock frowned. 

“I didn’t know either.” Sherlock added. It wasn’t a lot to say, but it made Mycroft feel so much better. If Sherlock didn’t notice something was wrong until now, then there was practically no way for Mycroft to see either. You hid it, and you hid it well. You hid it from the best. 

“I’ll call the school administration and organise a meeting with them. I’ll find out who did this.” Mycroft decided, reaching out and taking the jumper from Sherlock. “I’ll also get the first aid” he commented, turning and leaving the room again. Sherlock stood in your room, not moving, and he waited until he heard the bath water turn off, the door open, your clothes hit the floor and the door shut again before he turned and went and grabbed the clothes, taking them to be washed with your jumper. Sherlock heard Mycroft on the other side of the house, yelling on the phone about repercussions, demanding a meeting tomorrow, even if it’s the weekend, before his voice became louder, him walking into the same room with Sherlock, wordlessly giving him the first aid before leaving again to continue his argument, and Sherlock headed back upstairs to your room. 

He peeked into your room, seeing you had gotten out, dried off and dressed into your pyjamas, sitting on the edge of your bed. He flashed the lights again to get your attention before stepping in, coming and sitting down on your bedside, carefully taking your hands, rolling up the sleeves to properly see the scrapes and turf burn, which made him wince, imagining the pain in the bath, even though you didn’t make a peep. You didn’t make sound despite the pain, and that really, really bothered him. He wordlessly cleaned them and bandaged them, before signing to you “Are you hurt anywhere else?” You nodded, crawling deeper into the bed so your legs were rested on it, and Sherlock pulled your pant legs up to your knees, seeing even more turf burns, and he copied what he did with your hands, pulling the legs back down when he was done, before he pushed the medical equipment away from him, and waited in front of you till you looked at him. “Why didn’t you tell us?” He signed to you, speaking the words along with it. All he got was a shrug, which Sherlock was not going to accept. “Did they threaten you?” He added. You looked away, before finally signing. 

“It wasn’t too bad. I could handle it, I didn’t want to worry you. But I think someone else reported what they saw and they thought it was me.” You explained to him. 

“So if it wasn’t reported, you hadn’t planned to tell us?” Sherlock questioned. 

“It wasn’t a big deal.” You signed, clearly frustrated, which was paralleled by Sherlock. 

“Well it is now. We’re your brothers, your family. If something bothers you, you tell us, even if you’re annoyed at the way light reflects through a window, or how they’ve changed the packaging on a product in the shops, you tell us. Even if you think it’s harmless or not a big deal, we’d rather you told us about little things instead of hiding things until they become huge things. This is huge now, and we’re going to deal with it.” His signing firm and almost exaggerated. You’d never seen someone yell via sign language, yet here Sherlock was, somehow finding a way to do it, and it was pretty effective. 

“Okay. I’m sorry.” You quickly apologised to try and calm him down, which seemed to work. 

“How long has this been going on? How many of them are there, and what are their names? Tell me everything.” 

A few minutes later, Mycroft finally got off the phone, pacing for a minute to plan his next actions- deciding if he needed to call someone else, or go and check on you, but then Sherlock came into the room, and handed him a piece of paper, with names, examples of what each person did and their role in the attack, and how long it had been going on with a short timeline of other incidents. “I trust this is enough to start with?” Sherlock asked, watching as Mycroft skimmed over it. 

“This has been going on since he started secondary school?” Mycroft questioned, Sherlock briskly nodded, before tapping the paper to make him focus again. “Yes. This is enough. I’ll locate their parents and addresses, gather more information, I’ll have people look into CCTV to see if we can catch any footage of them following, chasing or… attacking him.” Mycroft explained, folding the paper up, before tucking it into his pocket. “How is he?” 

“He’s going to be sore for a while, keep an eye on his injuries- maybe take him to the doctor just to have it on record. He’s not very talkative at the moment, but we really need to get him to start talking to us more about things happening to him. If he’s ever quiet around you, try and engage him and ask about what he’s thinking about, get him out of the habit of keeping everything locked up. Leave the addresses to me. I’ll personally make sure they get the letters about the police investigation when you have it ready.” Sherlock said, walking to the entrance of the house, Mycroft followed him, watching his younger brother grab his coat, swing it around him and put it on. 

“Sherlock, do not threaten them- it’ll not be good for the investigation.” 

“I have no intention of threatening children, Mycroft. But I will make sure the point is put across that those parents have done an awful job and that they shouldn’t have messed with Y/N.” Sherlock promised, before promptly leaving. Mycroft huffed after the door shut, glancing up the stairs, before deciding to make a fresh hot drink for you to get started with a conversation with you.

Hope you like it! If you have any questions, please send them in!

*Not my gif

TAGS: @holy-tea-cup-blog @sassy-specter@keenmarvellover @multifandomfix @sleutherclaw @otterly-fey @rebellionofthecattle @hello-love-youre-pretty @werosemagic @courtneychicken  @graysonmalfoy @bellero @originalpottervengerlock @supernatural-pan @esoltis280 @lady-of-lies @lenaswritingandstuff @macbetheliza @mandywholock1980 @cdwmtjb8 @caswinchester2000 @determinedpines @huntheimpossible @automaticbakeryfreakshoe

[claudemblems]

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 say it.”

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.”

[mostghst]

the queerbait in bbc sherlock was absolutely crazy. from s1e1.

queerbait so good i didn't buy into the irene x shelock bit (altho "i am sherlocked" was iconic) at first. i still dont buy into it tbh, but i had to think critically for a hot sec. but also, "people die all the time" and then when john is in danger he's panicking. irene being like "dr. watson youre jealous" and it's just fucking true. sally being like "john you're normal get a hobby" but mycroft being like "youre a freak like my little brother, arent you?"

also, "i'm not gay" "well i am" PLEASE!! it would've been so funny having irene pop up as john's sister's new girlfriend. john running into the woman who was flirting with his man and she's dating his sister would be so funny he'd pop two blood vessels.

[starkraivennemad]

Do You Like Me?

Mycroft Holmes looked at the paper he pulled out of his pocket in utter confusion.

He knew what it was: three-holed, loose-leaf paper. The type of paper every school-aged child was familiar with. He felt an odd sense of nostalgia simply holding the paper with its college-ruled lines. His brain began to swim with deductions:

Carefully halved -its smooth torn edge telling him the person likely used a ruler to do so.

Folded to create a square.

Wrinkled as if having been balled up to be binned but then smoothed out again.

All of that, while its own level of bafflement, was not as dumbfounding as what was written inside.

It's Valentine's Day. I like you. Do you like me?  Yes ⬜ No ⬜

It was evident the giver started on this quaint, middle-school note-writing path, realized the ridiculousness of giving him of all people such a thing, and was going to throw it away, but then changed their mind and slipped him the note anyway.

It was unsigned but Mycroft recognized the writing and could hear the voice of its author in his mind.

He has not seen him in nearly a week. How? Why NOW?

Then he recalled a conversation from a year ago.

It was the week of Valentine's Day. He and Gregory Lestrade had met for their monthly Sherlock update, which stopped being about Sherlock long ago. Gregory was recalling how he felt when, as a spotty young teen, he slipped such a note to a girl he liked but forgot to sign it. The girl in question presumed it was from another classmate that she fancied and approached him with it. The classmate, seizing the opportunity, claimed the note was his. By the time Gregory realized what had happened, he was too heartbroken and ashamed to say anything. He had not sent a Valentine again until he was married, and they both knew what happened there. Mycroft was just coming to terms with realizing he had fallen in love with Gregory and convinced himself Gregory would not be interested in him. Thus, kept his feelings to himself. He could not admit then that he would have never made that mistake were Gregory to send him such, and he would have checked off Yes. Instead, Mycroft casually mentioned he had started uni by then. Not that he thought of such things then, but he was much too young for his intellectual peers. And that same intellect had cut him off from what should be his social peers. He had not said the words, but he knew Gregory understood it meant he had never sent nor received such a thing. So, in true Mycroft fashion, he blew the whole conversation off in fierce snark about the sentiment surrounding the time of year and quickly changed the subject.

Now, a year later, Mycroft stared at the paper in his hands.

He was grateful none could see how his heart lurched, for surely could not hide his wonder.

Here he was, a grown man, a near middle-aged man at that! -receiving his very first Valentine!

For a little piece of paper, it carried a lot of weight. One he never expected to bear.

And it's from Gregory!

The enormity of what it meant! That Gregory, who would never toy with him on such a thing knowing who he is, has done this?

Could it really be that simple? To have everything by answering a Valentine?

The thought utterly gutted Mycroft.

Mycroft was not a man for romantic overtures; he simply was not. Still, he knew he had to do something.  There are only two people who could get close enough to him to deliver such and he has not seen his brother in days.

"Anthea?"

"Sir?"

Mycroft held out the note. "Please reverse the travel of today's delivery."

Anthea barely suppressed her smirk as she slipped the note into a pocket without looking at it. "Yes, sir."

Mycroft gave it two hours.

Ninety-three minutes later, his phone buzzed.

TEXT: This is faster. She or whoever was sent is good. I just found it in my pocket. –GL

It was a photo of the original note, now with Mycroft’s response added, plus another text.

It's Valentine's Day. I like you. Do you like me?  Yes ✔ No ⬜ It is MORE than like. YES ✔  

TEXT: If you could have 24 hours with me and I couldn't say no, what would we be doing? –GL

Mycroft nearly dropped his phone as far too many visuals, clean and… otherwise, suddenly crashed in his mind.

It was heady to realize what he once never dared to dream could be on the verge of becoming reality.

TEXT: Be my Valentine and find out. I’m at Diogenes. The clock will begin upon arrival. Come and kiss me. –MH

TEXT: I’ll be there in an hour, depending on traffic. –GL

“Anthea?”

“Shall I clear your schedules for today, Sir?”

Mycroft could not find it in him to even pretend annoyance at her presumptuousness; she was his aide-de-camp for a reason.

“Today and tomorrow,” he looked at his phone, “Actually -hold that thought…”

Emboldened, Mycroft sent another text.

TEXT: Can you be enticed to double the time if you’ll allow me to reverse the order? –MH

He mentally grinned at the thought of Gregory's face upon reading it. 

TEXT: Consider me enticed. I’ll be there in LESS an hour! –GL

Mycroft’s eyes playfully narrowed on a smug-looking Anthea. “Make that today, tomorrow, and the day after.”

“Of course, sir.”

=========================

Read/Comment on AO3

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[toastsrambles]

chapter 77 review! (so spoilers)

ok immediately props to the translation team!!! love y’all and tysm \(^^)/

upon seeing the ‘translucent crystal and white powder’ i immediately said ‘is that crystal meth?’ upon further research, the components of meth were first synthesized in japan by nagai nagayoshi in 1885, however was first turned into methamphetamines around 1919/1920. additionally, mycroft mentions that this mystery substance is ‘categorized as a treatment for neurosis’, and methamphetamines are used in the treatment of mental illnesses, so that tracks, too. moniepeny also name dropped a scientist called nagai, so that is also accurate. the time frame is off by a few years, and germany’s intervention is kinda sketch, but i suppose they could just be shoe horning drugs into the lead-up to wwi. mtp is not a good replacement for actual history, as we have seen.

sherlock is conspicuously absent. i predict we’ll start with him in chapter 78, but his absence was particularly felt, especially because he wasn’t even mentioned. but that first page what???? i don’t know if it has any plot significance… it almost seems like a ‘what if sherlock was a criminal?’ or even a ‘what if sherlock was the lord of crime?’ bit, but i could be wrong.

william and the paint gun is a reminder from the writer that no matter how good a leader louis is and how smart he is, william is smarter. however, raw intelligence does not equal situational competence. i predict (or maybe hope) we see a situation in which louis is the only moriarty brother capable of fixing it. i think it’d be a good way of showing how louis is capable of standing on his own.

that being said, he is absolutely the only one with common sense in that family. ‘i checked his pocket for his train tickets to find where he worked’. william ‘shakespeare is an acceptable script for crimes’ moriarty could never. but on a serious note, i think that is primarily what separates louis from william and albert. he is far more practical and less idealistic, which i think are his main strengths in relation to his brothers.

the difference in eye color between william’s damaged eye and his undamaged one implies some degree of vision loss. we could probably have predicted this given the eye patch - and it might’ve been confirmed, but i can’t remember - but it’s nice to see actual confirmation.

’i barely recognize him. i’m proud of my younger brother’ AHHHHHHH. but my damaged heart aside, i really hope we see william and louis reconnecting. the two of them sort of lost sight of each other, as shown by that moment in hunting of the baskervilles. i’d say william doesn't really know louis as a person due to both his absence and his obsession with protecting louis that unintentionally damaged their relationship. (on a side note, does louis actually have hobbies? he cooks but that seems like a necessity because his brothers can’t. he had fish that one time i guess??? at least william had math…)

louis and bonde’s interactions were put there purely for me. in case you were wondering.

they’re definitely teasing world war one here, and this drug issue seems to be setting the scene for it. there was also the remark the man made at the beginning about the struggling economy, which also works to establish growing tensions. this is a strong introduction to this new part of the series: while the first part was about tearing down society so that it could be reborn into something better, this second part is about protecting the peace they’ve managed to build. louis will, i think, be having a strong personal arc this time around, where he didn’t really have that in the first part. i can’t wait to see how the story develops from here!

btw: should i keep doing chapter by chapter reviews? i think it’d be fun ^^

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom.

Silvery Witchcraft

It is of course not a secret. Not per se. I don’t hide my true identity. It has more to do with what people observe. Or believe, I suppose. Coming to terms with the fact that the paranormal is real doesn't sit well with most people. Therefore, I always find it amusing when someone calls me a witch. Little do they know…

I took my time when I got to choose my appearance and colours. An image of an elderly, fragile-looking lady filled my mind. She fit my favourite colours perfectly. Purple and silver. 

My place of residence had already been chosen for me. 221 Baker Street, London. Such a pretty place. Victorian. Reminded me of my childhood. I immediately set about furnishing the place. 221A would serve as my quarters. I decorated it as a woman my supposed age would. Lots of lace curtains, antimacassars, velvet cushions, a Persian carpet, and mahogany furniture. I hid the modern kitchen appliances in old, almost ancient ones. My cooking and baking would not suffer because of an unpredictable oven, thank you very much!

I didn’t bother with 221C at first but moved upstairs. 221B was going to be rented out. I needed to earn a living. Keeping up appearances and all that nonsense. The flat was quite spacious and had two bedrooms. The empty space got my full attention, and I chose carefully. My intention was for it to look as if the previous tenants had left it fully furnished. 

The walls were covered with creamy-coloured wallpaper and a black lily pattern. Two mismatched chairs, one in worn, but exquisite leather, the other a faded red upholstery one, were positioned by the fireplace. Although they looked old, they weren’t. 

I used quite a few moments to get the bathroom and kitchen just to my liking. The space was scarce, but by using my silver sparks, my secret weapon, I got everything to fit without it seeming cramped. Letting the rooms expand unnoticed by the users, was quite a challenge.

***

My first tenant was Mycroft Holmes’ little brother, Sherlock. Witchcraft is surprisingly fully recognised by the British government. Not publicly, of course, and only a handful of ministries are aware of its existence.

Mycroft summoned me to the Diogenes club, and almost begged me to save his brother.

“He won’t listen to reason,” he sighed. “I have tried everything. You are his last chance, or he will end up dead under one of London’s bridges.”

Mycroft Holmes is just as much of a drama queen as his brother, but this time he wasn’t far off. I saw it in the lines around his eyes and mouth.

Arrangements were made, and I literally served my fake mafia husband to Sherlock on a silver plate. We got on like a house on fire after that.

Sherlock immediately fell in love with 221B, and he moved in the day after we returned from Florida and the execution. I hadn’t felt so alive in centuries!

“You will need a flatmate,” I told him after a while. “It’s too lonely for you. Don’t you roll your eyes at me, young man. I hear you during the wee hours. Playing your violin and pacing. A loyal companion is what you need.”

“Who would want me for a flatmate, Hudders?” he asked.

My heart nearly broke at that. Sherlock had become like a son to me, and I hated to see his loneliness. Few people were able to look behind his haughty façade. Greg Lestrade, Mike Stamford, and Molly Hooper being the exceptions. And me and Mycroft, obviously.

“Talk to Mike Stamford,” I urged him. “He will keep an eye out, and he certainly won’t pull someone like Sebastian Wilkes out of his sleeve.”

***

Before Sherlock left for Barts on January 29, I sent some silver sparks after him. For a moment, too brief for the human eye to discern, it lit him up, making him appear even more handsome. Not that he needed it. It was more for good luck, which he might have needed. It was difficult to use my magic on him due to his unpredictability and that monster of a brain.

The moment I laid eyes on John Watson, after Sherlock’s unprecedented hug, I knew he was just the one to share 221B with the genius detective. I didn’t even consider using my magic on him. He was already perfect for Sherlock. I just had to make sure that Sherlock didn’t push John away when he made his move to inquire about his romantic life and orientation. 

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[lokijiro]

Just imagining a young post-university Sherlock watching his big brother effortlessly playing a dangerous, grand game of chess with the world and wondering what he could possibly do that might compare.

At some point, he is elated as he decides that he could make a living out of being a "consulting detective". He is actually good at this.

And Mycroft disapproves. Mycroft tells him that it’s a stupid, ridiculous, childish notion and he needs to grow up. Goes as far as to call him a disappointment as Sherlock doubles down. (Of course, Mycroft is actually just really, really worried about his little brother chasing dangerous criminals.)

This turns Sherlock into even more of a show-off at crime scenes. Always so desperate to prove that he is clever like his brother, that he is worthy.