#bbc mycroft fanfic

[reallyunluckyrunaway]

Please SOMEBODY make it happen!!!!

[sarcasstic-jpmvr]

TECHNICALLY the only thing that’s canon is ACD Sherlock Holmes

The rest are just fanworks

EURUS ISN’T REAL

[lilmoonbunny]

Denial; Mycroft Holmes

Mycroft only seeked you out to deduce you (aka, how Mycroft realised he liked you).

John and Sherlock were, without a doubt, the loudest neighbours that Y/N had ever had.

Gunshots at God only knows what hour, constant stabbing, banging, and so on. Despite this, she still considered them dear friends and the best neighbours that she had ever had. Sure, they were weird and loud, but they were also kind and genuine, at least for the most part. Alongside this, they also appreciated her baking, especially after long cases.

A gentle knock sounded on the door the 221B catching the attention of three people.

“You can come in, Y/N,” Sherlock called from behind the door, greeting the woman with a nod before turning his attention back to Mycroft whilst John smiled at her.

“Hi, Sherly. Hi, John.” She smiled at the two friends before turning to the older Holmes brother. “Hi, Mr Holmes.” Y/N greeted him with a smile. Although she hadn’t met him before, it wasn’t difficult to deduce who he was; the expensive suit and the fact Sherlock was glaring at him gave it away.

“Sherly?” Mycroft spat, grimacing at the nickname given to his brother. “Who on Earth would you let call you that?” He asked.

“This is Y/N, our neighbour. What have you brought for us today? I’ve been looking forward to this all week.” The sweet smile Sherlock gave to the woman made Mycroft feel ill. He had no clue who this woman was and absolutely no idea why they seemed to be this close.

“Chocolate cake, sugar cookies, and love.” She joked, beginning to laugh at the way Mycroft audibly gagged. “I’m only kidding. No love.”

“I should certainly hope not,” came Mycroft’s response, one which simply made her laugh again.

“Are you jealous, Mycroft?”

“Because of the cake, he is.” Sherlock interrupted, waving Myrcoft off. “No, I won’t take the case. You can leave now.”

“This is an urgent matter, brother mine.”

“Don’t care.”

With a groan and a roll of his eyes, Mycroft lifted himself to his feet and prepared to leave.

“I’ll leave these with you, just in case you change your mind. Goodbye brother mine. John.” The hesitation was obvious on Mycroft’s face, despite how well he typically hid his emotions, as he faced Y/N.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr Holmes.” Y/N smiled sweetly, earning a simple nod from him before he left.

Sherlock, who had leaned to grab the tub of baked goods from the woman’s hands, rolled his eyes as Mycroft left and immediately began to eat.

It wasn’t long until Y/N’s entire life had been researched.

There wasn’t much there. No criminal record, a few jobs, occasional moves, but no sign of her posing any danger to Sherlock and, by association, John. However, the way Mycroft felt upon seeing her was unusual, so he decided to do his own investigation.

“Morning, Mr Holmes,” he was greeted before he reached the empty counter. “Welcome to my bakery! Would you like anything?”

“Just a coffee, please. Black.” Mycroft nodded, not returning the smile she had given, despite the odd feeling it gave him. She was evil and he would prove it to Sherlock.

“Coming right up! Take a seat wherever you’d like, and I’ll bring it over.”

As Mycroft occupied a seat, he took a moment to properly assess the woman making his drink.

She didn’t seem threatening: a content smile on her lips as she prepared his coffee, humming a quiet tune that he barely picked up on. In fact, she didn’t seem out of the ordinary at all, but the feeling when he first saw her – a feeling Mycroft couldn’t explain – had him needing to investigate her further.

“Here you go, Mr Holmes.” Y/N said, placing a hot coffee and chocolate cake on the table in front of him. “Sherlock mentioned that you like cake, so I grabbed you some. It’s all on the house.”

“Why?”

With a small laugh, she responded without hesitation. “You’re Sherlock’s brother.”

How odd, Mycroft thought to himself. She doesn’t even know me and she’s giving me things for free…

Despite his thoughts, Mycroft simply nodded, watching as she took a seat opposite him. “I hope you don’t mind. It’s quiet today so I figured I’d try and keep you company the best I can. I’m sure you have better company than me, though.”

“I don’t mind,” he replied before even thinking. It was safe to say that he didn’t enjoy the way his chest felt whilst he watched her smile.

Maybe she’s a witch? No, don’t be stupid, Mycroft. They don’t exist.

“So,” Y/N’s voice broke the man from his thoughts. “It’s a funny story how me, Sherlock, and John met. I was actually working and Sherlock bursts in demanding to talk to me. My baking stuff had been found at a crime scene and he thought it was me!”

“How interesting.” Came Mycroft’s blunt reply, even if he was intrigued.

“You listened to it, so you must care, even just a little bit. I think that’s a win for me!”

Mycroft couldn’t help the tiniest smile that crawled onto his lips, but he internally prayed that nobody noticed it, especially her. She, however, seemed oblivious to the movement, simply staring over his shoulder and out of the window.

“Anyway, what was he like growing up? Was he like he is now? Blunt and rude?” Y/N asked with a giggle.

“He wasn’t, actually. He was rather sweet. He liked playing pretend with his friend; he always wanted a dog too.” Came Mycroft’s reply. “His favourite thing was pirates.” He said with a fond look in his eyes. Sherlock wasn’t going to be happy when he found out that he had told her, but he couldn’t resist answering her question.

Mycroft watched closely as the woman in front of him grinned, the bright and happy smile a nice contrast to what he was used to whilst working with the government. He couldn’t help but smile back, noting how her smile widened further as he did so.

“That’s sweet. I couldn’t imagine that, to be honest,”

It was time to ask the question that was on his mind. “Are you attracted to Sherlock?”

“Sherlock?” Y/N said, bursting into laughter. “No, absolutely not. He’s more like an annoying older brother. Same with John. We’re just friends, and, well, neighbours too.”

Confusion spread over Mycroft as she felt the weight on his shoulders lift at her words; she was telling the truth.

“How is she?” Sherlock asked the moment he answered the phone.

“How is who?” Mycroft’s voice sounded through the device.

“Y/N,”

“Why do you assume that I know?”

“It’s obvious you were there earlier.”

“…”

“Well, that and Mrs Hudson told us.”

“Of course she did.” Mycroft said with an involuntary roll of his eyes.

“So, how was it?”

“It was fine.”

“You like her then?”

“What makes you think that?”

“Well, you went to see her. It’s quite obvious, Mycroft. Come on, I thought you were smarter than that.”

Mycroft simply put the phone down.

He did not like her.

The next time that Mycroft came across Y/N was when it was raining.

He hadn’t wanted to seem ‘creepy’ by seeking her out again for more investigations and deductions, so he simply waited. She was friends with his brother, it wasn’t like their paths wouldn’t cross at some point. Besides, he didn’t want Sherlock to think that he liked her.

“Raining real bad tonight, isn’t it?” The driver spoke to Mycroft. He was new, so Mycroft couldn’t exactly blame him for attempting some type of conversation with him; it was still annoying, though.

Anthea, looking up from her phone was what caught Mycroft’s attention. “I feel bad for her.” She said, nodding towards a soaked woman. It only took Mycroft a moment to realise who it was.

“Pull over,” he stated bluntly, grabbing his umbrella. He simply ignored the look he was receiving from his assistant.

It had been a long day filled with rude customers, and to make it worse, it was raining, and she had forgotten her coat. Today couldn’t be going any worse for Y/N.

Shivering wildly and soaked to the core, Y/N huffed, watching the way her breath instantly evaporated; it was clearly below freezing, but she held out hope that the rain would stop and she would be home soon.

Her hope seemed to pay off, though, since she could no longer feel the rain. As she looked up at the sky, she spotted a familiar face.

“Mycroft?”

“Y/N.”

“What are you-“

“Get in.” He said, pointing towards the car before wordlessly leading her towards it, still holding the umbrella above her, even if he was getting wet.

“You don’t have to, Mycroft.” She said as he ushered her in and shut the door behind them both. “I mean, I’m soaking your car!”

Mycroft, who could feel the heat on his cheeks from their proximity, simply shook his head. He was too focused on the way her leg was pressed against his as she sat between him and Anthea who stared at her phone with a small smirk.

The ride was void of conversation, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, the only noise was that of Y/N shivering.

After a moment of hesitation, Mycroft shrugged off his jacket and handed her it. “Here.”

There was no chance of refusal, Mycroft wouldn’t allow it, so with a quiet ‘thanks’, Y/N popped the jacket over her shoulders. He just found the chattering of her teeth annoying, was what he told himself.

As they arrived at the flats, Mycroft followed her out of the car.

“Thank you, Mr Holmes.” She said as they stood on the door of her flat.

“Mycroft is fine, Y/N.”

“Thank you… Mycroft.” She said with a small smile before bidding him a goodnight.

“I see you gave her your jacket,” Was all Sherlock said as Mycroft entered 221B.

It was hard. Very hard. Harder than anything Y/N had ever experienced. Having a crush was not easy as it was, but having feelings for Mycroft Holmes was the hardest thing in the world: he rarely showed emotion, he was blunt, he was rude, but most importantly to her, deep down, he was nice.

A small sigh left Y/N’s lips as she worked on her latest batch of cookies for the morning. He was on her mind… again. It was a common occurrence by now.

“We’re not open yet, sorry!” She called over her shoulder at the sound of the door opening. As she turned around to see who it was and apologise again, a blush rushed to her cheeks. “Mycroft! What are you doing here?”

Mycroft stood there, umbrella in hand, and gave a simple shrug. “I was on my way to work so thought I would ‘pop in’ as people say.” He explained, earning a laugh from the baker.

“Modern phrases don’t suit you, Mycroft.” She teased.

With an amused shake of his head, Mycroft took a seat at the table nearest her.

“Want some cookies? They’re fresh out of the oven!”

Mycroft nodded with a grateful smile, always glad to have sweet treats. He would never turn down anyone’s desserts, least of all Y/N’s; not because he liked her and didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but because she was a good baker.

The pair sat in a comfortable silence, Mycroft gladly eating his cookies with an appreciative look whilst Y/N worked on her next batch. There was nothing awkward between them, and there, surprisingly, never had been.

“Are you not at work today?” Y/N broke the silence with a question that was bugging her. She could have sworn Mycroft had always worked this time over the months that she had known him.

Mycroft hesitated for a moment. He was supposed to be there right now but had decided to visit you before. It wasn’t like anyone could fire him for it, he was basically the British government, after all.

“Not yet,” he lied, and he was glad that he was a good liar.

“Oh, okay! I’m happy you came then. I don’t want to bother you.”

“You could never be a bother,” the words fell from his lips before he even registered what his thoughts, and he noticed the blush race up her cheeks, as did she with his.

“Thank you, Mycroft.”

As he stared at her and her rosy cheeks, a million thoughts went through his mind, but they were all related to one thing: her. It was in that moment that he realised the truth, he did like Y/N, and he had been attracted to her since the beginning; that was what he was feeling.

Oh dear…

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom.

Someone To Rely On

Sherlock never trusted anyone, but now, barely without his knowledge, he trusted five people. Five! It was outrageous.

Despite his snarl and distaste for his brother’s involvement in his life, Sherlock trusted Mycroft nearly most of all. Nearly.

Whenever Sherlock ended up in a drug den, needed transport, or rescue from Serbian prisons, Mycroft was the one to trust, and he never failed to deliver.

Behind Mycroft in line, there had been Lestrade. Sherlock could always count on the DI lacking the brains to solve a difficult case, then turn to the world's only consulting detective for help.

His beloved landlady was dearer to Sherlock than his own mother. Her biscuits and cakes were the best in the land, perhaps even the world, and he didn’t mind her fussing all that much. Not that he’d ever admit it, of course. Besides, she loved their bickering just as much as he did.

Molly, next. His cheeks blushed when he thought about how over the years, he has exploited her crush on him to the fullest. Crowding in on her to let her get a whiff of his cologne. Lowering his voice when he wanted to get access to some interesting body parts. 

The only times he has touched her, though, were to apologise for his behaviour and thanking her for helping him faking his own death. Both kisses were full of regret on his part, and he still wished he hadn’t needed to bestow them on her.

And then there was the enigma, the soldier, the doctor, the man with as many trust issues as Sherlock. John Hamish Watson. The most loyal man he has ever met. A man who actually killed another man to save Sherlock from his own stupidity mere hours after they’d met. He was admittedly an awful cabbie, but the truth remains; John had not hesitated when he fired that gun. His hand was steady, his shot perfectly aimed. It took Sherlock an embarrassing amount of time to realise who the hitman was, but when he did, he was defenceless.

***

After years of living together, Sherlock knew for a fact that John was the puzzle that would always remain unsolved. That thought appeared in his mind numerous times a week. Sometimes, numerous times a day.

On Mycroft’s last visit, he called John a Living Weapon. When Sherlock had insisted on an explanation, his older brother had rolled his eyes in exasperation.

“You are totally blind when it comes to Doctor Watson, brother mine.”

Sherlock waved a hand, indicating for his pompous arse of a brother to continue.

“How loathe I am to state the obvious, there is…how shall I put it…the effective way he disposed of Mr. Hope. I don’t think I need to go into details of every time the good doctor has kept you from harm’s way, for which I am most grateful. Be it his hands, his fists, his arms in general, or illegal firearms, he is there for you, Sherlock. Always. From day one. I am certain he would have a go at me if he thought I was a threat to your life.”

Mycroft looked smug after this delivery, which Sherlock didn’t notice. He was so deep in thought, he failed to perceive that his brother left the flat. When he returned from his Mind Palace, two hours had passed.

He had created a new room for John in his mind, using all the images Mycroft planted there while he listed every way John had saved him over the years. He used less than three seconds to name it.

John Hamish Watson - The Living Weapon

***

“You’re unusually calm,” John murmured into Sherlock’s ear when he came home that afternoon.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Sherlock asked a bit puzzled.

“Considering that your brother has visited,” John clarified.

“Ah. The knocker,” Sherlock sighed. “We really should consider gluing it to stay askew for eternity.”

John chuckled and kissed Sherlock’s jaw. The great detective inhaled sharply when he realised that John’s new room in his Mind Palace would need more images. All the ways John brightened his life, how he loved him, were weapons too. Sort of. Because Sherlock was totally helpless when his lover used every trick in the John Watson Bible of Seduction to get his attention.

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I'll leave it up to you to deduce whether Mycroft was aware he was using a pun...

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[multific]

Destiny

Mycroft Holmes x Reader

Summary: What happens when you fall in love with the IceMan himself? It can never end well, right?

Destiny.

A simple word yet it held so much power.

What does it mean to be destined for something or even, someone?

When you first heard about this word, your grandmother told you how she and your grandfather met.

A true love story.

A story so beautiful it was always in the back of your head as you grew older and older.

You hoped you would have a similar experience in your love life. Finding, the person and falling in love, it all sounded amazing.

You knew you wouldn't be able to force such a thing, you were aware of that. And yet, you were impatient. 

So impatient that in fact, you fall into many traps.

In many ways, you thrived in your life.

Expect your love life.

Your desire for a love like no other made you fall in love with men who were undeserving. 

Until you met Mycroft Holmes.

To say that he was the entire British Government would be an understatement.

You applied for a simple job, to be his assistant.

You spent so much time with him, that you thought you were going insane.

You blamed Stockholm syndrome for your feelings.

The moment you realized your feelings were real was during a very difficult week.

Almost every criminal in London had an agenda to mess with him. This caused you to do so much overtime, that you didn't even leave the office.

It was during the fourth day when Mycroft showed up with a bouquet. 

"I thought you would be home," he said, clearly he wasn't prepared to have you right there, at your desk. "Usually you arrive at 6:46 because you stop by at the nearby bakery for breakfast and coffee." 

So, he did pay attention to you. After he spent all that time to make sure you are aware that he simply doesn't care for people like you.

"I stayed to finish the file on this. I-"

"Did you eat?"

"No, Sir." he made a face at that and took his phone out of his pocket.

"Delivery will be here in 10 minutes. Eat, drink your coffee and then come speak with me. I'll be in my office."

He ordered exactly just what you wanted with the most perfect coffee you ever had.

He paid attention to you.

And you realized your feelings for him were real.

You knew hiding it from him would be impossible. Mycroft was incredibly smart. He would notice.

But little did you know, he felt the same.

He thought you would notice his feelings and confront him about it. 

He wasn't ready for a rejection.

Yet, your rejection never came.

Not when he asked you out to dinner. Not when he brought you another bouquet.

Not when he kissed you.

Instead, he let you guide him.

Love wasn't new to him. He loved his siblings, and his parents but this kind of love is very different. 

He didn't have experience with this kind of love, and it scared him a little.

But he also didn't reject it.

He embraced it.

And soon, a beautiful diamond ring found its rightful place on your finger.

It might have not been the way you wanted your one and true love.

But it was your destiny.

And you were okay with it.

Taglist: 

@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou @mandoloriancookie @il0vebeingdelulu @deliciousfestsalad @groovyqueer @lilliumrorum @asgards-princess-of-mischief

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE OR REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[holmesianlove]

Have enjoyed binge reading the #FTH fic #bluebuell33 wrote for me that she has finally posted!

Please give her a read and some love

Handbook for Unrequited Love

[forevers-world]

A Mycroft Holmes appreciation post.

What a beautiful specimen of the human race. 👏👏👏

[strawberrywinter4]

May 9 | Prompt: Intimidation

Warning: Depictions of violence and drug use.

“You’re just too much sometimes, that’s all I’m saying,” his mother comments as she troubles herself with the dishes.

Mycroft rolls his eyes. He knew it would be a poor idea to come visit. He should have just settled for a call.

“You almost scared John away,” she says, scrubbing a class clean. “Your comments and glares at dinner are not helpful, you know. Sherlock almost had your head.”

“John is anything but frightened by me, Mummy. He made that perfectly clear when we first met.”

“Sherlock told me about that first meeting.” She sighs, turning toward him with a scolding expression. “Mycroft, why did you do that?”

Mycroft wills his cheeks not to flush crimson in embarrassment. “It was merely for precaution.”

“Sherlock is a grown man. He can take care of himself.”

Mycroft’s hands clench the kitchen counter. She doesn’t know. She hasn’t seen the extent of Sherlock’s pain like Mycroft has.

“All I’m saying is that I think you should be more considerate to the people who seem to actually want to be around him,” she says. “And John…well, he’s a very polite man. I think he’s good for Sherlock. Very good.”

Mycroft doesn’t answer her. Realizing she’s not going to get a response out of Mycroft, she leaves the kitchen with a tut under her breath.

Mycroft’s eyes are trained to the sink.

——

The front door opens and shuts loudly, Mycroft wondering if the force of it broke any vases. Ignoring his brother in the lounge, Sherlock runs up the steps, his little feet going as fast as they can. Mycroft hears his bedroom door shut.

Mycroft sighs, getting up and leaving his science project. Heading upstairs, he turns the corner and knocks on Sherlock’s door.

“Go away, Mycroft!”

Mycroft is silent for a moment, then tries for the door handle lightly. Locked, of course. He rests his head on the door.

“If you open the door, I’ll make Ginger Nuts.”

A few seconds pass and the lock clicks, the door creaking open. One of Sherlock’s blue eyes peak through the crack. “Do you promise?”

“Yes.”

Satisfied with the reply, the door fully opens. Mycroft holds his grimace successfully, but it isn’t a simple task.

Sherlock’s eye that wasn’t peaking through the door is a mixture of purple and black, a few bruises gracing his jaw. His lip is cracked and blood is oozing down his chin.

Mycroft attempts to keep his voice leveled. “Sit on the bed, I’ll grab the first aid kit.”

Returning with the kit, Mycroft is pleased to see Sherlock took his advice for once, sitting on the sheets, eyes focused on his legs as they swing back and forth over the edge.

Without comment, Mycroft sits beside him. “Up,” he instructs, tilting Sherlock’s face to the correct position. He applies alcohol to a cotton and begins dabbing the application to his brother’s lip.

They sit in silence, Sherlock hiding his winces and Mycroft cleaning the blood and bruises.

“When are they coming back?” asks Sherlock.

“I’m not sure. Probably not for another few days.” Mycroft is used to their parents being gone for business trips, but Sherlock is still wrapping his mind around it.

Silence falls again. Then Sherlock speaks up:

“Are you really making Ginger Nuts?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe you.”

It takes everything in Mycroft not to crack a smile. “Why is that?”

“You don’t like Ginger Nuts and you only do things that benefit yourself,” he says bluntly.

Mycroft hums. “You really think so little of me?”

“Yes.”

They both share a grin.

Mycroft’s face hardens as he wipes another trail of blood on Sherlock’s cheek. “Did you decide to make another quip?”

Something changes in Sherlock’s expression. Something akin to…embarrassment? Shame? Mycroft’s not sure, but he’s never seen his brother acquire such a look.

“I didn’t,” Sherlock replies.

“Then what happened?” Mycroft demands, though his voice is quiet.

Sherlock shrugs. “I don’t know.”

And it truly seems like he doesn’t know. “Then tell me what could have possible occurred.”

Sherlock looks down, his finger trailing the design of the solar system on his bed sheet. “I thought I made a friend.”

Mycroft blinks. “A friend?”

Sherlock nods. “He said he wanted to be my friend. At break, he offered me to join him at the back of the building to play, and I said yes because…well, I told you about the pond that’s back there.”

Sherlock enjoys observing the frogs that live around there.

“I thought I’d show him the pond,” Sherlock says, this time more quietly. “But then we got there and he pushed me in the mud. His apparent friends came around the corner and…”

“Did that,” Mycroft finishes, nodding to Sherlock’s face.

Sherlock nods in answer.

Mycroft will never understand it. Out of all things, he will never understand this. Yes, Sherlock is odd. He has required rudeness over the past year, but Mycroft fully believes that Sherlock has just been taking after him.

Then there are the admittedly good things about him. Sherlock enjoys rambling about scientific discoveries, he likes to play in ponds and rain, he likes to help Mummy bake, he likes to play Pirates (which is actually quite fun), and he is a swift and independent learner. Mycroft admires these qualities. And though he’s never been good at showing his affection (and possibly never will be), he and Sherlock know how to make their relationship work.

“I will take care of them,” Mycroft says as Sherlock wipes tears from his eyes.

“They’re big,” Sherlock says. “And scary.”

Mycroft snorts. “Bigger than you. Not me.”

Hesitantly, he puts a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. This seems to give a sign to Sherlock that he’s been waiting for, and he hugs Mycroft tightly. Stunned, Mycroft settles for patting his curls awkwardly, but this doesn’t will Sherlock away. Sherlock continues to hug him and cry, and Mycroft wants to make it all go away.

After a while, Sherlock releases him and sniffles stubbornly, wiping more tears. “Can I have Ginger Nuts now?”

Mycroft stands, nodding to signal Sherlock to come along. “You’re assisting me. I know you know how to make these in your sleep.”

——

In a random building, in a random place. That’s usually where he is.

Mycroft hears either miserable sounds or nothing at all. He sees stranger’s eyes rolling to the back of their head while taking sedatives or pills.

The curls are unmistakable. Sherlock is huddled up in a corner, a blue hoodie wrapped around him loosely. Mycroft nudges him. He then turns him and is not startled to see his pale skin, his unhealthily sharpened cheekbones or his dull eyes.

Mycroft sighs.

He helps Sherlock up and practically drags him to the vehicle parked thankfully close outside.

Carefully putting him in the passenger’s seat, Mycroft gets behind the steering wheel.

Mycroft glances at him, and is overcome with what his brother has turned into.

“Brother mine. Why do you hurt yourself so?”

He knows Sherlock doesn’t hear him, doesn’t understand his whispers.

Maybe that’s for the best.

——

“I worry about him…constantly.”

John stares at him. “That’s nice of you,” he murmurs.

“But I would prefer for various reasons that my concern go unmentioned. We have what you call a difficult relationship.” Mycroft keeps his voice impassive. His heart aches.

John’s phone pings. It’s obviously from Sherlock.

They continue with comments back and forth. Mycroft feigns an impression that he’s only wanting Sherlock’s whereabouts for personal gain. John seems to believe it wholeheartedly.

Mycroft can’t decide if John is worth Sherlock’s time.

Probably not.

Mycroft analyzes him to get a rise out of him.

“Are we done?” John asks, attempting to keep his frustration to a minimum.

Anger issues. Of course.

The rest of the meeting goes not so smoothly. John leaves obviously bothered and Mycroft doesn’t know, he doesn’t know if he can trust this man to even come close to deserving Sherlock’s friendship.

No one does. It’s the truth.

Mycroft has been called overprotective. He’s been called annoying. Unfair. Unethical.

Mostly by Sherlock.

But what are big brothers for?

——

You can read it here on ao3 as well.

I hope you all enjoyed! Love me some Sherlock and Mycroft lore.

Prompt by @calaisreno Thank you!

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[bs2sjh]

My first @flashfictionfridayofficial! Thanks for the great prompt!

Fandom: Sherlock (Johnlock, Mystrade)

I'm also posting it on Ao3. It's over 1000 words, so feel free to go here to read it!

cw: implied drug use, implied suicide attempt, implied torture

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

There had been a number of times where Mycroft Holmes had been made very aware that he did, in fact, have a heart beating in his chest after all.

The first was when a small, red-faced infant had been brought home. As Mycroft looked down at the crying, screaming thing, he didn't expect the sudden jolt in his chest. A stab of sudden overwhelming emotion. What was equally unexpected was that when he stroked his new baby brother's face and told him to quieten, that everything was going to be okay, that he would always be protected by his big brother, the infant had listened. William Sherlock Scott Holmes simply looked at his older brother, and Mycroft felt that deeply. 

The second time was sheer pain at finding his younger brother in a drug den, surrounded by needles, barely breathing. It wasn't the first time he'd found him in a place like this. But on this occasion, it felt different. Mycroft knew that this time, Sherlock had not meant to survive the encounter. Scooping up the younger man in his arms, his heart ached at how thin the boy was, at how little life remained in him. He took him straight to the nearest hospital, where they whisked him away, leaving Mycroft with his aching heart to sit and wait. It wasn't until many days later that Sherlock opened his eyes to see the concerned expressions of his family around him. In his heart, Mycroft knew that this wouldn't be the last time his brother would be in this situation. The pain was indescribable. 

The third time was seeing Sherlock chained up in a filthy cell in Serbia. His brother had spent two years moving around the globe, destroying pockets of Moriarty's empire single-handedly. That the criminal mastermind hadn't targeted Sherlock's family should have hurt, but strangely it didn't. Knowing that Sherlock had people he cared about enough to keep them safe meant that he valued at least some people in his life to prevent their suffering. It was a pity that John Watson didn't know the lengths to which Sherlock would go to protect him. It might have saved his heart some of the ache he was currently feeling. But seeing Sherlock beaten, tortured, at the edge of his sanity. Anger filled his heart this time. That someone could do this to his baby brother. Infiltration successful, Sherlock finally cut down from his bonds, too weak to stand, bleeding and barely conscious. Mycroft hardened his heart and made sure no one who had laid a hand on his brother was left to tell the tale. 

The fourth time was the hardest to bear. To know that Sherlock had once again sacrificed his life for a love that would never be acknowledged. By now, Mycroft was angry at John Watson. He had Sherlock's undying love but was so blindingly stupid not to realise that fact. So here they were, in a prison cell, Sherlock about to be sent away on a one-way mission to the place he had been rescued from not long before. All so that John Watson could be happy. And there was nothing Mycroft could do. His heart ached at how easily Sherlock would throw his life away for someone who merely considered him a friend. But nothing Mycroft could say would make Sherlock change his mind; he refused to tell John the truth, and that was that. The relief when Moriarty appeared on the screen, the phone call that followed, the pardon that he had hoped for arriving almost too late. His heart skipped with happiness only to sink again when he realised his brother had fallen back on old habits. No one who had seen that list could think otherwise. Sherlock had not meant to land in Serbia alive. Telling John Watson to look after his brother was the hardest thing he had ever done, but at that point, Mycroft knew he had to let go. His heart couldn't take any more. One day, Sherlock would succeed, and his heart would break. 

The fifth was a surprise. As Mycroft stood blinking at his brother, who was sitting at the kitchen table in Baker Street bouncing a three-year-old Rosie Watson on his knee, his heart gave the biggest lurch he'd ever felt. He felt for the chair he knew must be there and sank into it like his strings had been cut. 

"Best man?" His brother rolled his eyes and set Rosie on the floor, watching as she toddled off into the living room.

"Yes."

"But..."

"But what? You've been there every day, meddling, since I was born. For once, and once only, I'm asking you to be there. With me." Mycroft's heartfelt three sizes bigger; a lump appeared in his throat, and his eyes started to fill. Choking down the emotion, Mycroft coughed and turned away. 

"Don't tell me it broke him too. You two are ridiculous." John laughed as he walked into the kitchen. So a few weeks later, Mycroft stood next to his brother as he married his best friend, finally. 

If the fifth was a surprise, nothing shook Mycroft more than the sixth. He was standing on the edge of the dancefloor as he watched Sherlock waltz with his new husband, besotted expressions on their faces. It happened when the other best man approached. 

"So, normally, I guess I would be asking the maid of honour to dance. But seeing as that would either be you or me in this case, would you do me the honour of this dance?" Gregory Lestrade held out his hand for Mycroft, and at once, something like a bolt hit him straight in the heart. 

"I'd be delighted, Gregory." He accepted the proffered hand, and they waltzed onto the dancefloor. As they moved in time to the music, Mycroft felt his heart change. He continued to feel its presence long after the dance, the night, the week. Mycroft spent the rest of his life knowing full well he had a heart. It was a joyful feeling most of the time, and, on occasion, it ached. It got larger as their families grew and settled. And he never once said again that caring was not an advantage. Because he had learned that it most definitely was. 

@totallysilvergirl @lisbeth-kk @helloliriels @dapetty @calaisreno

If you'd like to be tagged when I post a new story, let me know!

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

The Same Page Part 9

Sherlock and Mycroft & little sister!reader

A/N: you guys have been the epitome of patient, and I’m so sorry it took so long to update it. I got so caught up in my requests (which were all supernatural, which I also love btw) that I didn’t even realize that it’s been months. Updates are not gonna take this long in the future, I do love this series too. Thank you guys for being so patient

Warnings: angst, Sherlock’s kinda mean in this one

“I’m asking you not to declare war.”

Mycroft’s words struck a nerve in Sherlock. He wasn’t the one who threatened a custody battle, and he wasn’t the one always trying to take you away.

“It’s not about declaring war,” Sherlock argued. “It’s about you going against our agreement. You agreed that she should stay here for a few days, and it’s only been one night.”

“Yes, and she’s already had a panic attack,” Mycroft shot back as he led the argument into the kitchen so that they wouldn’t wake you up. “My agreement was made when I thought that you would actually stay here with her, not run off on a case. And I assume that that case is yet to be solved?”

“I’m getting close,” Sherlock said, feeling defensive.

“Which means that you’ll leave again. She can’t be alone Sherlock, she just can’t. You may disagree with me on that, but as her legal guardian I’m putting my foot down; if she’s in this house, she won’t be alone. Ever.”

“How is she ever going to go back to normal if you keep treating her like she can’t do anything on her own?” Sherlock challenged.

“That’s the problem with you, Sherlock! All you can think about is getting her back to normal. Why don’t you stop and try to think about what she needs, instead of just what you want.”

“You think she doesn’t want to go back to normal?” Sherlock scoffed. “You think she wants to be like this?”

“Like what?” Mycroft challenged. “No, don’t turn away,” he continued when Sherlock started to turn, shaking his head. “Like what, Sherlock? Are you going to stand here and tell me that because she’s hurting and she needs help, there’s something wrong with her?” When Sherlock didn’t speak, Mycroft persisted. “Like. What. Sherlock?”

“Like an invalid!” Sherlock snapped. “Like she can’t spend a couple of hours alone, like she can’t eat unless you’re hovering over her, like she can’t do anything by hersel—“ Sherlock’s voice cracked as he stopped, and the blood draining from his face instantly alerted Mycroft. He turned around to see where Sherlock was staring…

“Myc?” Your voice came out in a whimper as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes. “Myc, I want—I wanna go home now.” You kept your head down, not looking at Sherlock even as he started to protest.

“N/N, I didn’t mean it like—“

“Of course,” Mycroft cut him off. “Of course I’ll take you home now.”

“Mycroft.” Sherlock glared at his brother. “Let me talk to her.”

“Myc, I want to go home,” you repeated, your voice a little more desperate now. The meaning was clear, even if you didn’t say it—you didn’t want to talk to Sherlock.

Mycroft turned on his heel and led you towards the door without responding to Sherlock.

“We haven’t finished discussing this!” Sherlock argued.

The only answer he got was a slamming door.

…

“I can do it,” you insisted, ignoring Mycroft’s outstretched hand as you reached the stairs leading down 221B.

“Please let me help you.” Mycroft was already reaching for your hand as he spoke, but you snatched your hand away.

“I can do it!” You repeated.

Mycroft pulled his hand back, but remained close as you made your way down the stairs.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled after a moment.

“It’s alright,” Mycroft assured you, and the two of you remained silent after that.

Mycroft was too preoccupied thinking about Sherlock to speak anyway. As much as his little brother had been out of line, he hadn’t been completely wrong. Surely you wanted to go back to the way things had been, at least a little. What was Mycroft going to do if you stopped needing him around? Of course he wanted you to go back to school, to start sleeping regularly again, to eat right, all of that…

But what if you went back to Sherlock? Mycroft realized suddenly that he didn’t want that, even if you completely recovered mentally. He liked you living with him, and he was pretty sure you liked it, too.

But it wouldn’t be fair to you if that wasn’t what you wanted. But Mycroft could no longer tell what you wanted. He was trying to give you what you needed, and it was clear that you weren’t ready for the level of independence that Sherlock was pushing for, but…but what if one day you were? Would you stay with Mycroft, or go to Sherlock?

Mycroft was starting to realize that he needed you to need him too much, and he wasn’t sure what he would do once you didn’t need him. Would no longer needing him mean that you no longer wanted him?

“Is everything ok?” John’s voice interrupted Mycroft’s thoughts as the two Holmes’ passed him in the stairwell.

“Not really,” Mycroft sighed. “We’re going home.”

“What? I’m sure you and Sherlock can—“

“Not now, Dr. Watson,” Mycroft insisted. “We’re going home.”

…

You were quiet the whole way home, and when Mycroft asked if you wanted to sleep you just nodded silently.

As Mycroft got you settled in your bed, he talked quietly to you.

“I don’t want you to worry about today, alright? Any of it. Sherlock and I are going to figure out our custody arrangement, you’re not going to be left alone again, and…and Sherlock didn’t mean what he said, alright? There’s nothing wrong with you, so don’t think about it.”

You blinked up at your brother for a moment before turning on your side and closing your eyes. Mycroft sighed, turning to sit in his chair by your bed. You hadn’t gone this silent in months.

This could be harder than Mycroft had thought.

…

Mycroft stirred at the sound of sniffling. He hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep—he was usually able to keep himself awake until you fell asleep, but he must’ve dozed off.

He squinted in the dim light to see your short hair, sticking out at a few angles as you cried face-down in your pillow.

“Y/N…” Mycroft was at your side in an instant, but when he pulled you away from your pillow you started to shake your head and push at him. “It’s ok,” he insisted. “It’s ok, it’s just me.”

You continued to shake your head, but Mycroft noticed that your fingers had a vice grip on the front of his shirt.

“It’s alright…I’m right here.” Mycroft pulled you into his arms, and you stopped fighting him. You still didn’t speak, and Mycroft just held you in his arms until you cried yourself to sleep.

“Sherlock, what have you done?” Mycroft muttered to himself.

…

You had barely managed to hold in your tears until Mycroft fell asleep in his chair, but it didn’t matter, because you’d woken him up anyway. You couldn’t bring yourself to speak as you tried to fight Mycroft off, or even as he held you close. You didn’t actually want him to go away, but after what Sherlock had said…

“She can’t do anything for herself!”

Even if Mycroft claimed it wasn’t true, you couldn’t get that voice out of your head. You’d barely said a word since then, and you weren’t ready to change that yet. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to, it was more like the weight in your chest was so great, that even if you wanted to speak, you didn’t feel able anymore. Your anxiety clawed its way up your throat, choking even the idea of speech.

So instead of speaking, you just let your big brother hold you in his arms until your exhaustion won the fight with your anxiety, and you finally drifted off to sleep.

…

Mycroft was concerned almost as soon as he woke up. After you’d gone back to sleep, he’d returned to his chair but stayed in your room, just in case. But when he woke up, he saw that you were already awake—your eyes were open, but you hadn’t moved.

“Are you ready to get up?” Mycroft asked softly, and your eyes flickered to him at the sound of his voice. You pushed yourself up wordlessly, and Mycroft began to wonder just how long you’d remain silent. “Let’s go downstairs and get some breakfast,” Mycroft added, being careful not to phrase it like a question; he knew your answer would be no—you never felt like eating when you got like this—but Mycroft wanted (more like needed) to keep you on your eating schedule.

You didn’t protest as Mycroft helped you down the stairs, or when he put a plate of toast in front of you. But you didn’t eat it, either. Mycroft sighed, exhausted.

“I need you to eat. Just a little bit, for me?”

You blinked up at him before returning your gaze to your lap.

“Just a bite or two,” Mycroft added. When you didn’t move, he sighed and pushed the plate aside. “Alright, we can try that again later. Do you want to play our game? Tell me what you see.” Mycroft was desperate for any kind of interaction with you, but you remained unmoving and silent. “C’mon, you can’t—I can’t do this again, please. I can’t. I need you to—“

Mycroft cut himself off when your hand reached out and grabbed his in a death grip, your breath suddenly coming in gasps.

…

“I can’t do this again, please. I can’t. I need you to—“

Panic gripped your heart as Mycroft struggled to speak.

“I can’t do this again.”

This. You.

Would Mycroft get tired of trying to cater to you, the way Sherlock seemed to? Would he get sick of the way you “couldn’t do anything for yourself”?

You’d sought out Mycroft’s hand without even meaning to as your fear forced itself up your throat, restricting your breath.

What would you do if Mycroft got sick of taking care of you? Where would you go?

You remembered the earlier days of living with Mycroft—when CPS workers came over to “keep an eye” on your custody switch. They’d taken one look at you and tried to convince Mycroft to bring you to some care facility. If Mycroft didn’t want you, was that where you’d go? You wouldn’t last a week there, you just knew it—not without your brothers.

“Y/N! Y/N!” You’d been so lost in your own head that you didn’t hear Mycroft calling out your name until he was shaking your shoulders and yelling in your face. “Yes, good, look at me.” Mycroft breathed in relief when your eyes finally met his.

“I’m sorry.”

Mycroft couldn’t even take a moment to be relieved that you were speaking again as you sobbed in his arms.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated. “Don’t leave me, don’t leave me, don’t—“

“Hey, hey now,” Mycroft cradled your face in his hands, trying to get your attention back. “I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere. I’m here Y/N, I promise.” You finally seemed to focus on him, so Mycroft just repeated “I’m right here,” again and again as he wracked his brain for a reason behind your sudden change to hysteria. He’d been speaking just before you started to panic—what had he said?

“I can’t do this again…”

Oh no. You hadn’t understood him; worse, he hadn’t made himself clear to you. Now you thought…

“Hey.” Mycroft made sure he had your full attention before he spoke. “I need you to listen to me now. I…I didn’t mean that I can’t—or won’t—take care of you, ok? I didn’t mean that I’ll leave you. I’ll never leave you, never. You understand me?” At your hesitant nod, he continued. “Good, good. I never meant to make you think that, I just…I just meant that I don’t want to see you in so much pain again. You didn’t talk for so long, and…and I know how much you were hurting. I don’t want you to hurt like that anymore.”

“I’m sor—“

“No, no don’t.” Mycroft wouldn’t let you apologize again. “Don’t ever apologize for being in pain, that’s not what I wanted. I just…I really want you to forget about what Sherlock said. He didn’t mean it, he didn’t. There’s nothing wrong with you, ok?” You didn’t nod this time, but Mycroft didn’t push it. “But it doesn’t matter. Because no matter what happens—with Sherlock, with wherever you decide to live, with all of it—I will never leave you, alright? I’ll be here whenever you need me. I’ll always be here for you.”

Mycroft willingly let you pull him into a hug, and when you all but collapses your weight into his embrace, he held you up without wavering.

“Please tell me you know that. Tell me you believe me. Because I promise it’s true.”

“Ok,” you sniffled. “I-I believe you.”

“Ok,” Mycroft sighed. “Ok.”

Mycroft eventually led you over to the couch where you dropped in exhaustion, and soon enough you were fast asleep, remnants of tears still staining your cheeks.

Once he was sure that you were asleep, Mycroft reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone, pressing a number and placing the phone to his ear.

“Sherlock? Yes, it’s me. I need you here, now. You’ve got a mess to fix.”

Taglist:

@navs-bhat @isabellavere @chaoticglitterkitten @peachycupotea @justforrose @severussimp

[asgards-princess-of-mischief]

Last Updated: 2024-08-13

Disclaimer: I am not the author of these stories, just sharing my favourite BBC!Mycroft Holmes stories. Find the authors' links below. If you want your work removed, message me privately.

Legend: 〔E〕 ⇢ Erotic/Steamy | 〔F〕 ⇢ Fluff | 〔A〕 ⇢ Angst/Hurt 〔M〕 ⇢ Minor Angst/Hurt | 〔C〕 ⇢ Comfort | ♥︎ ⇢ Established Relationship | 𑁍 ⇢ Pregnancy/Children | 🚫 ⇢ Content Warning

✑ Earth Angel by lacelynpage • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: You spent the last year and a half planning your wedding and know every detail except one. Mycroft picked and then wouldn't tell you what song you would be dancing to for your first dance.

✑ Force Majeure by the-girl-next-door-writes • 〔F〕 •

Summary: Mycroft Holmes is so caught up in analyzing his own feelings that he doesn't see they could be reciprocated. Lucky for him, his little brother is an interfering shit.

✑ He Should Know What to Expect by galactic-academia • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: Lady Smallwood wants to 'have a drink' with Mycroft; he's confused, but Reader knows exactly what to do...

✑ Hold My Hand by quillsandcauldroncakes • 〔F᜶A〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: Mycroft Holmes was not known as a very compassionate man. To some, his emotionless personality is… strength, himself included in this. To others, it is viewed as insensitivity and rudeness. However, to one such woman in his life, it is nothing more than a shield to protect the ones he loves.

✑ It's Beautiful by sherlockxreader • 〔F〕 •

Summary: Rain usually means less people milling around London streets. Still, you love the rain. Seems someone else appreciates it as well.

✑ Little Smiles by marvelmymarvel • 〔A〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: When life got crazy as a spy and your life was endangered, the US sent you to England to be protected and 'start over' as they would like to say. You were placed under the care of Mycroft Holmes and soon became the mystery woman to the people of England.

✑ Motivated by sherlockxreader • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: Mycroft hasn't been enjoying exercising, so the reader decides to help motivate him creatively by working out with him.

✑ Pointless Jealousy by megs-mostly-past-random-fandoms • 〔A〕 •

Summary: You can't help but feel heartbroken after learning about Mycroft's *ahem* arrangement with Lady Smallwood. Mycroft makes the situation by dismissing your jealousy as a pointless emotion.

✑ Your Hand in Mind by girl-next-door-writes • 〔A〕 •

Summary: Witnessing the death of Mary Watson causes Mycroft to focus on what he feels is truly important to him.

✑ A Matter of Take Out by bakerstreethound • 〔F〕 •

✑ A Proper Date by thranduilsperkybutt • 〔F〕 •

✑ After You by thranduilsperkybutt • 〔F〕 •

✑ Because by thranduilsperkybutt • 〔F〕 •

✑ Can't Lose You by specialagentlokitty • 〔A��C〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Cuddles with Mummy by fandom-puff • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

✑ Deeply and Unswerving by anna-liz-fiction-blog • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Feelings by imagine-by-susu • 〔A〕 •

✑ First Date by multific • 〔F〕 •

✑ First Sight by collecting-stories • 〔F〕 •

✑ His Weakness by imagine-by-susu • 〔A〕 •

✑ I Need to Go by imagine-by-susu • 〔A〕 •

✑ Jealousy by coppercatwrites • 〔A〕 •

✑ Just a Tad Sweeter by sherlockxreader • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Late at Night by multific • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

✑ Masquerade by megs-mostly-past-random-fandoms • 〔F〕 •

✑ Midnight Mission by fandom-writers • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ My Boys by make-me-imagine • 〔F᜶C〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Never Fell Out of Love by raggedy-dxctor • 〔A〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Oh Darling by lacelynpage • 〔F〕 •

✑ Pleasant Distraction by fandom-puff • 18+ • 〔E〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Precious Cargo by bewarethecrazyperson • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Prim and Proper by fandom-writers • 〔F〕 •

✑ Pub by make-me-imagine • 〔F〕 •

✑ Sherlock No! by specialagentlokitty • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

✑ So Brilliant by lacelynpage • 〔C〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Surveillance by thranduilsperkybutt • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Time the Ice Man Melts, the by deerstalkersanddangerousthoughts • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Two Minutes by thranduilsperkybutt • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Visiting by fandom-puff • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

✑ Work Function by multific • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Wrong Person by anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Dating Mycroft Holmes... by lacelynpage • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Dating Mycroft Holmes... by raggedy-dxctor • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

See Also: Navigation || BBC!Mycroft Holmes Master Index

Authors: @anna-liz-fiction-blog || @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek || @bakerstreethound || @bewareofthecrazyperson || @collecting-stories || @coppercatwrites || @deerstalkersanddangerousthoughts || @fandom-puff || @fandom-writers || @galactic-academia || @girl-next-door-writes || @imagine-by-susu || @lacelynpage || @make-me-imagine || @marvelmymarvel || @megs-mostly-past-random-fandoms || @multific || @quillsandcauldroncakes || @raggedy-dxctor || @sherlockxreader || @specialagentlokitty || @thranduilsperkybutt ||

[renx01]

Out of Sight - part 1

Summary: Moriarty is your boss. After he helped you out of a precarious situation when you were still a minor, you started working for him. Now, he has a new job for you. Get close to the Holmes brothers to keep an eye on them for him. Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mycroft Holmes/Reader & Jim Moriarty/Reader Fandom: BBC Sherlock Word count: 1492

Masterlist

Jim Moriarty is a tricky man to work for, yet you do. After meeting you while you were a seventeen year old that had gotten involved with the wrong crowd, he had seen potential in you. So, after some training from his right hand man, Sebastian Moran, you became one of his best. He even gave you a nickname, Spike, after your personality. When you initially started working for him, you were quite spunky and talked back whenever you felt like it. Now that you’re older and have worked in his organisation for a couple of years, you’ve mellowed out a bit when it comes to business and listening to Jim. Now, you’re a ruthless assassin that will do whatever you’re told to by a certain Irishman in the blink of an eye. Currently, you’re on your way to his estate out of town. The sleek car that picked you up is quite lavish, something you’d somewhat grown used to as he tends to enjoy showing off. You watch the trees flash by you as the car speeds up while music plays through your earbuds. It had been a while since you last were at the estate, as you’d been out of the country for business the past couple of months. The car eventually comes to a halt and you quietly get out.

‘My dearest Spike,’ Jim smiles when you step into his office, ‘it has been a while hasn’t it?’ ‘It has, sir.’ You smile back at him. ‘Business in Hong Kong has been settled without too much issue.’ You glance at Sebastian entering the room. ‘The target has been eliminated and you are now in control of the biggest criminal network.’ Moriarty’s smile turns into a grin. ‘That is wonderful to hear, I didn’t expect any less from you.’ His face suddenly becomes serious again and he turns to Moran. ‘Sebastian, do you have the files I requested?’ The other man only nods before putting the files onto the desk. ‘Good, good.’ He starts looking through before his eyes turn to you once again. ‘Spikey dear, come here. I want you to look through these documents and photographs today, I have a new assignment for you.’ You approach the table and file which is filled to the brim. There’s mostly pictures of and reports about consulting detective Sherlock Holmes. Jim walks around the desk and stands next to you on your right, while Sebastian is already on your left. ‘I want you to get close to Sherlock Holmes and his Brother, Mycroft.’ He points out a picture of the two of them. ‘Keep and eye on them for me. Gather as much information as you possibly can, I do not care how, as long as you don’t reveal your identity.’ Turning to him, you finally look the shorter man  in the eye. ‘Of course sir.’ Sebastian shoves another file into your hands before he starts talking. ‘We’ve arranged for a new identity so you’ll be able to fly under the radar. Name: Charlie Moore, age: 27, occupation: intelligence analyst at Scotland Yard. Any other information you may deem necessary can be found in this file. You’ll move into 221C Baker Street tomorrow morning. We’ve already arranged for you to be able to stay there.’  That night you spent looking through the files that were given to you. Sherlock and Mycroft both seem quite interesting in their own rights. Sherlock is a high functioning sociopath that seems to get a thrill out of showing off his intellect and skills to others. His skill is quite incredible, but nothing you hadn’t seen from Jim before. Besides, deduction is a skill a person is able to learn, quite easily in fact. You’d been taught by Sebastian when you first joined Moriarty’s organisation, though your skills have been sharpened over time, with some help from the Irishman himself when he thought you could do better. Now, you rival Sherlock’s speed and skill when it comes to deduction. Still, you understand why your boss is such a fan, that is what he calls it anyway. You think it’s more of an obsession. Contrary to his brother, Mycroft doesn’t seem to enjoy showing off as obviously as Sherlock does, yet he does enjoy flexing his power from time to time. The files you possess show how Sherlock’s newest acquaintance had been picked up by the man’s secretary multiple times and driven to an ominous location so he could talk to John. Supposedly, he offers money to those that get close to his brother, so you’d be keeping that in mind. It does become clear, however, that Mycroft didn’t just hold a minor position within the British government. Clearly he, like your boss, constantly keeps an eye on the consulting detective.

The following morning you arrive at Baker Street using a cab, so as to not have any suspicions arise. You have two suitcases, mostly holding clothes, books, and other essentials. Your larger weapons have already been delivered to and hidden in your new flat, so you don’t have to worry about those. After knocking on the door, you’re greeted by Mrs. Hudson, your new landlady. ‘Good morning dear, you must be the new tenant.’ She smiles brightly. ‘Yes, very nice to meet you Mrs Hudson.’ You smile back and stick out your hand for her to shake it. She does so before letting you in. Before she leaves you be in the flat, to which some basic furniture had already been delivered, courtesy of Jim, she warns you about your upstairs neighbours. ‘I do hope you’ve read the warning about the noise carefully dear. Sherlock can be quite a lot with his antics.’ Despite not being too worried about the noise, having had to deal with plenty of situations which were significantly worse than a single man could accomplish, you make sure to assure her you’ll be fine. ‘Yes, of course Mrs Hudson. Noise does not tend to bother me very much and I’ll be away for work during the day, so I suppose I should be fine.’ You smile at her again before closing your door and starting to unpack. It is Sunday morning, so you want to try and unpack most of your things before the start of the workweek, tomorrow is your first day at Scotland Yard after all. Before you start unpacking though, you put in your earbuds and put on Radiohead’s album In Rainbows.

The day went by without much issue, or noise from the upstairs neighbours. Probably because Sherlock was on a case, as your employer had let you know. During that time, you’d hidden the last of your weapons in places which aren't deductible and gotten your image in check. Your persona was quite a boring one to be fair, and while there’s always a hint of truth in them to make it believable, your own life has a lot more excitement and risk. Still, that is something you have to intentionally hide from the brothers and their acquaintances. Looking at your watch, you decide it’s time to go to the shops, as you’d be likely to arrive once Sherlock’s already back and you’d have a reason to introduce yourself. ‘Bye Mrs Hudson. I’ll be back in a few.’ You close the door behind you and head out. When you return with a bag of food, you’re met by two men standing at the door. You immediately recognise them as Sherlock Holmes and Dr John Watson. ‘Excuse me, could you please step aside so I can get to my flat?’ You deliberately make your voice softer and quieter than it usually is as to come across as somewhat shy. The doctor steps aside without much hesitation while the detective just turns around and starts trying to deduce you. ‘You must be the new tenant. Nice to meet you, I’m John Watson.’ The short man smiles at you. You shake his hand before introducing yourself and turning to the taller man, though he isn’t much taller than you. ‘Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective.’ He looks you over once again. ‘You’re in the police force but no officer, your nails are too clean for that. You’re dressed as if you have a new job despite it being a Sunday, you’ve only brought clothes you wear to work, which means you don’t go out much or meet people in your free time. You prefer listening to music and reading books to social interactions.’ You feign surprise but are glad, those were all the markers you’d set for him to read. He turns around and heads up the stairs to 221B. ‘I’ll see you at Scotland Yard tomorrow.’ John quickly turns to you and apologises for his friend’s behaviour before following him up the stairs. He’s certainly a character. Didn’t notice a thing though. -S

I told you so, and that’s why I wanted you to do this. -JM

I’ll keep you updated. -S

[lilmoonbunny]

Balls and Questions; Mycroft Holmes

Mycroft has a question.

There was nothing Y/N hated more than attending balls, but alas, it was mandatory in her workplace. Being in the cyber security sector of the government was nothing short of exciting, at least until you factored in that the digital safety – and perhaps physical also - of the country was essentially in her hands. Socialising had never been her forte, least of all dancing, so combining the two was a nightmare which is likely why she stuck by her close friend Mycroft Holmes.

“Do we have to be here?” Y/N whispered, being careful as to not be too loud that others around them would here.

Frankly, Mycroft did not care about being heard and replied in his typical voice. “Sadly, yes. I do not wish to be here anymore than you do.”

With a sigh, Y/N turned to face those dancing, watching her friend Anthea dance with a man she had been approached by moments prior.

“I don’t know how people dance so much; I couldn’t do it.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Mycroft asked, turning to face her with a raised eyebrow.

Y/N smiled. “A bit of both. I don’t think I’d be a good dancer.”

Mycroft hesitated for a moment, seeming as though he was about to say something before turning back to facing the crowd.

Everyone seemed to be having fun except the pair stood off in the corner of the room, both praying that nobody would approach them, although, Mycroft did have a question on his mind for the woman beside him that he was not yet willing to ask.

Truth be told, he had harboured feelings - a ‘silly crush’ as Sherlock called it - for her for the last year, having worked together for three, yet no matter how many times Sherlock told him that she reciprocated his feelings, he did not believe him nor wish to approach her romantically. He didn’t believe that he could be a good partner to her and did not wish to hurt her in any form.

“Maybe we can leave early? Say I feel sick or something.” Y/N chimed in with her idea.

“That does not get me out of this, I’m afraid.”

“Just say you’ll take me home or something,”

“That would start rumours.”

Y/N smiled sadly, taking a sip from the glass in her hand. “I guess you’re right.”

“I always am,” Mycroft replied, shaking his head when Y/N turned to him with a raised eyebrow and a smile, a giggle falling from her lips.

“I’ll take your word for it, Myc,”

There was that nickname again, the one that she had been calling him for the longest time when they were alone; the one that always had his cheeks flushing. It gave him confidence, well, downing his drink also helped.

“Would you like to dance with me?” He asked, avoiding looking towards the woman, despite wishing to see her reaction.

Y/N smiled to herself. “I would love nothing more than to dance with you. And not just a single, slow dance, I just want to have fun and dance with you for the rest of the night.”

Maybe balls weren’t so bad after all.

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom.

Warnings: mentionings of torture, injury.

Don’t Tell Him

The pain is greater and more agonising than all the beating he got in that filthy cell in Serbia, because this pain isn’t just physical. Sherlock knows that if he answered John’s insistent questions about who the shooter was, it would break John’s heart, despite what Mycroft says.

“Tell him, brother mine,” Mycroft urges. “John is far more resilient than you give him credit for, and his feelings for you…”

“Don’t!” Sherlock snaps. “The love of his life shot me in the heart. I refuse to add that burden to his confused mind.”

“I agree that he is confused, but not for the reasons you think, Sherlock,” Mycroft says cryptically.

Sherlock closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep. He’s not only in constant pain, but he’s also exhausted with all the emotions that this whole business regarding Mary Watson throws his way. It’s so much harder to stay focused and aloof when the painkillers leave his brain all foggy and relaxed. His pining for John comes to the surface, tugging at his heart.

“Go home to Mary,” Sherlock urged John before Mycroft arrived. “She needs you more…”

“I’m staying,” John interrupted in his stubborn tone. “Just fetching some clothes and stuff before I’m going with you to Baker Street tomorrow. Non-negotiable!”

He had lifted his chin in defiance, daring Sherlock to protest. His last words are a puzzle Sherlock still hadn’t been able to deduce.

“You need me, and I need…to…”

***

John has gone to Aldi to buy milk, bread and eggs, wile Mycroft stays to keep an eye on his brother, with strict instructions from the good doctor to call if anything changes regarding Sherlock’s pulse, heartrate, temperature, and several other unnecessary trifles. (Sherlock’s words)

“John, for Christ’s sake, go!” Sherlock says exasperated. “I’m fine.”

John looks sceptically at him, grabs his wrist and takes Sherlock’s pulse. When he’s satisfied, he hurries out of the bedroom and descends to the front door, probably running all the way to the shops to reduce his absence to a minimum.

“Are you still convinced that he only has friendly feelings for you?” Mycroft asks with a quirked eyebrow.

“Don’t tell him, Mycroft! He can’t know. If he’s ever to realise how much…I…I wish she had finished…”

“Sherlock!”

Mycroft rarely raises his voice but when he does, it speaks volumes.

“I would not survive your demise, brother mine. She can count herself lucky that she didn’t kill you. Even John’s plea for her life would’ve been in vain, her pregnancy notwithstanding.”

Mycroft’s voice trembles with emotions, which is odd to witness.

***

Sherlock has no sense of time anymore, but he thinks it’s been days since his conversation with Mycroft. Something is being delivered, and John’s steps are heavier than usual when he ascends the stairs.

Carrying something. Not groceries. Two bags. One over each shoulder.

When John brings his meds later, Sherlock observes that something is different. John’s face is displaying a variety of conflicting emotions. There’s determination and insecurity, sorrow and relief, anger and hope. The last deduction does something to Sherlock’s shattered heart.

“What’s happened?” Sherlock asks calmly, although he’s terrified of the answer.

John’s voice sounds mechanical, as if he’s rehearsed what he’s about to tell Sherlock.

“Mary left a note. She’s gone. The baby isn’t mine. Her name isn’t hers. She’s apparently an assassin. Worked for Moriarty. She shot you. You knew, and you wanted to shield me. I want you to stop doing that.”

He sheds his clothes down to his pants and tee and climbs carefully into bed. Sherlock’s breath catches in his throat.

Is this real, or a hallucination?

“It’s real, Sherlock,” John tells him, as if he’s the one who’s become a mind-reader.

He lies down beside Sherlock, letting his palm rest over the wound, over his heart. The heart that beats solely for John.

Does he know? If so, how?

“You’re not as subtle as you think, Sherlock. What I saw traces of before this, became clear as day when your brain function was compromised by painkillers. Am I wrong?”

Don’t hide. Tell him.

“No, John. You’re not,” Sherlock says and places his hand over John’s.

@flashfictionfridayofficial @totallysilvergirl @calaisreno @keirgreeneyes @raina-at

@helloliriels @safedistancefrombeingsmart @gregorovitch-adler @a-victorian-girl @peanitbear

@meetinginsamarra @topsyturvy-turtely @phoenix27884 @jolieblack @221beloved

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Hey, my requests are open

I decided I would also like to write for other fandoms outside of f1.

I’m thinking about:

Criminal minds

Aaron Hotchner

David Rossi

Emily prentiss

Game of thrones

Little finger

Tywin Lannister

Tyrion Lannister

Sansa stark

John snow

Star trek

Leonard McCoy

Spock

Christopher pike

Harry potter

Severus Snape

Sirius Black

Remus Lupin

Lord of the rings

King Thranduil

NCIS

Leroy Jethro Gibbs

Sherlock

Mycroft homes

The walking dead

Negan

Celebrities

Alan Rickman

Lee Pace

Pedro pascal

Zak Bagans

Let me know if you want other fandom or characters I’m open for everything.

Drop a request.

I would be happy to write it

[canigetawahoo-at221b]

Please can someone recommend some johnlock/mystrade fics that are gut wrenchingly sad or makes you cry so hard your snot bubbles sadness.

Like I want something so upsetting I could cite it as a reason to get more therapy.

I’m fine btw, I just want a cry 🤣