#bbc mycroft holmes x you

[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/

[himegureisu]

1 | the Woman

Summary: Mrs. Mycroft Holmes. Yes. You. Most people didn't know you existed. In these years, that's about to change.

A/N: This is the new version. This can be read as a gender-neutral person. However, the pairing remains Mycroft Holmes/Female Reader throughout the story. Season 1 scenes are entirely domestic Mycroft Holmes x Reader. This scene begins at home after Season 1 Episode 1: A Study in Pink. I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: There are innuendos at the end of every chapter.

Gaining weight again?

Losing it, in fact.

—————————— 🔎——————————

His stomach was pudgy. It has always been that way since he was a child. Any and every attempt at losing it was an arduous road he refused to take any longer other than the occasional jog on a treadmill at your insistence.

Could he lose it? Yes, however, the effort required to do so was significant in that he would rather accomplish several tasks of import than appease the opinion of others and his vanity.

“Mycroft?”

Your soft inquiring voice breaks through his thoughts. His attention redirected, from the mirror to the sight of you by the threshold from the hall.

“What are you doing in front of the mirror?” you ask, walking over, to stand by his side.

“Sherlock has mocked my weight again,” he sighed, patting the fat on his stomach. “I should be used to it by now, however…”

It was a sore spot from time immemorial. One his brother didn’t hesitate to pick on almost every time they saw each other.

“Are you not bothered by my weight?” he asks, you shake your head: a no, as he faces you, “Truly?”

“Mycroft Holmes, I didn’t care about your weight before we married. I certainly do not care for it much now,” you say as you cup your hands on his cheeks in all seriousness, “I’d rather you eat and overindulge in meals than skip them. It means you’re taking care of yourself. Your job is already stressful and Sherlock being reckless is the literal cherry on top. If partaking in an extra slice of cake can soothe your frayed nerves, then be my guest. However, do save a piece for me, and then we’ll find a way to lose the calories together.“

Your hands trail from his face to his body, noting every curve and contour to memory. He may not be society’s ideal man but you love every part of him. Even those parts that he hates.

“You are incomparable, my dear.” his voice wavered, as he leaned down to rest his forehead on yours. “Thank you,”

“I love you just the way you are, Mycroft,” you whispered, brushing a quick gentle kiss on his lips, “Don’t you ever doubt that,”

To Mycroft, your words were the only ones that truly mattered. Your acceptance and love are a balm to his insecurities and fears. He never thought that he’d ever experience such unconditional love from anyone except his parents. However, it seems that the world has granted him the privilege of being loved by you.

“Would you like to join me in our bedroom, my dear?” he suggested. His eyes twinkled mischievously in the evening light. “I thought of a way to lose those calories,”

“Oh, do tell then,”

“I’d rather show,”

NEXT >>

[fairybonesandstardust]

you can’t knowingly fuck a criminal and then turn around and get mad at them for doing something unethical, dubiously moral or illegal that directly involves you. what about this man made you think he follows the laws, is ethical or even moral? you knew damn well that he killed people for a living. how are you going to date someone whose probably on the FBI’s most wanted list (top 10) and then turn around and be surprised that he invaded your privacy? make it make sense. you can be mad at him all you want but shawty the man has proven time and time again who he is as a person. if this mother fucker is out here willingly killing bitches and has probably broken the geneva convention on multiple occasions what makes you think you’ll be exempt 😭? don’t be shy share with the class?

[bluecookies02]

Mycroft would not know how to flirt.

He would try to win you over with his witty comebacks and occasional compliments.

It's not like he doesn't know what the correct approach would be, but he just can't imagine himself saying such things.

You'd have to notice the subtle hints yourself. He will not poke at your intelligence(he wants to sometimes, it's a reflex, but he keeps his mouth shut when it comes to you), he won't keep the distance he usually does when he speaks to people. Sometimes he'd even brush his hand over your shoulder or waist when walking around you, or squeeze your knee a little if you're both sitting down.

To him all of these are MAJOR hints, yet you're just there, oblivious to everything for a long time.

He'd know that you like him, he isn't scared of rejection, but as you keep ignoring his efforts he does start doubting himself a little bit. Emotions are his weakest field.

When Sherlock gets sick of his unsuccessful courting, he pesters him until he invites you for dinner.

When you ask what the occasion is, he finally manages to tell you. In his own limited way.

"For the occasion of me wanting to have dinner with you, if you would be so kind"

That's all you get. You do still expect that there will be an actual, secret reason once you get there but you assume that he can't speak of it until then.

When you arrive at the restaurant and spend a good portion of the evening just talking about nonsense, you seem to catch on, finally.

"Mycroft, is this a date?" His cheeks are red, his palm covering his face.

"Obviously."

No. Not obvious to you apparently.

He is stressed. Help his poor soul.

You will mock him for literal YEARS about this. Of how the man controlling the whole country took 7 months to gather the balls to ask a girl out on a date despite knowing that she'd say yes.

[unusuallysubtext]

Hey, can I request a oneshot where Y/n (Mycroft's spouse) suddenly brought a puppy home; they found the puppy on the sidewalk. They brought the puppy home, cleaned him up, and then went to the pet store to buy supplies like dog food, toys, a bed, and a pad for the puppy to pee or poop on. They returned home with all the supplies.

Mycroft finally arrived home after a long day at work. He found Y/n on the floor and was confused at first until he saw the puppy they were playing with. He was perplexed and definitely against it at first, but a few weeks later, Y/n finds Mycroft in the living room with the puppy on his lap while Mycroft reads his newspaper.

Thank you in advance!

Thank you for your request! Requests are open as of 18/06/2024. Tags at end. To be removed/added to the taglist, send an ask or DM me. Critics welcomed, reblogs appreciated! :)

Today was one of those rare days off you had from work, but as usual, it was never in sync with Mycroft's busy schedule. You had awoken to a cold bed with the sun already beaming through the crack in the curtains. With a sigh, you climbed out of bed and stretched, making your way downstairs. A vase of sunflowers stood on the kitchen counter, a card beside it on top of a box of London’s finest pastries.

Good morning, my love. 

Salon appointment at two p.m. 

Take care of yourself.

Love,

M.H.

You smiled, admiring the set up and the time taken out of Mycroft’s morning. Of course he had booked out an entire salon; nails, hair, facials, drinks…

After getting comfortably dressed (a change from your usual business attire), eager to eat more than a few pastries (it would be unfair to try only a couple, after all), you ran downstairs and popped the kettle on.

As you sipped your tea, you pondered how to spend the rest of your day until a car picked you up at one-thirty. The idea of a long walk around the estate seemed appealing, especially with the rare London sun. 

Spring coat and boots on, you set out for your walk. The streets were quiet unlike the bustling inner city, and she much appreciated the calm; it allowed for decompression after high stress days at your demanding job. As she turned a corner into a small park, she noticed a small bundle of fur huddled in the bushes fronting the blue-painted metal rails. Curiosity piqued, you approached cautiously.

To your surprise, it was a puppy, shivering despite the unusual warmth, alone. You were expecting a rabbit, likely dead after the foxes got to it, not an uncommon sight in this area. The little creature looked up at you with wide, fearful eyes. You kneeled, allowing your hand to be sniffed before you picked it up. Upon further inspection, it was only a couple of weeks old, the size of your hand, and bore no collar.

"Poor thing, you must be freezing," you murmured, stroking its soft fur as you held it close to your chest. "Let's get you home."

She made a quick stop at a nearby pet store and vet clinic, purchasing everything the puppy would need—food, a bed, toys, and a small collar, which you left unetched without a name, only your phone number on the back of the tag. 

By the time she arrived back at the house, her arms were full of supplies, and the puppy seemed much more comfortable in your breast pocket. The clinic had not detected a microchip, making you wonder how long the pup had been outside as you set up a cozy corner in the living room. You watched as the puppy explored its new surroundings, following you with tiny, tentative paw taps to the kitchen, where you poured some water and food into its bowls. 

"Mycroft is not going to like this," you thought out loud with a wry smile, imagining his reaction. But the sight of the puppy, now curled up contentedly in its new bed, made her feel certain she had made the right decision.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of playing with the puppy, canceling your salon appointment and ride through Anthea, and preparing dinner after the pup grew tired enough to fall asleep in its bed. As evening fell, you found yourself anxiously awaiting Mycroft's return, wondering how he would react to your new addition and fearing his disappointment of being unable to enjoy his planned day for you.

The grandfather clock struck once, indicating five-thirty and you arose from the dining table to head to the front door. You opened it to see Mycroft, who was pleasantly surprised at your greeting.

“Good evening, darling. How was your day?” he asked, heading in. His smile immediately turned to scrutiny as he sensed something was wrong. “You didn’t go… Why do you have cat hair on you?” Mycroft asked, looking at you.

“Dog, Mycroft,” you rolled your eyes. You weren’t anxious anymore, just keen to see Mycroft discover what you’d done. You followed him to the living room, where he froze at the sight of the sleeping puppy across from you.

“Y/N, what on earth were you thinking? How will you care for it?” Mycroft cried. He never called you by your name. Only ‘Mr/Miss/Mx L/N’ before marriage, and ‘my love’ and ‘darling’ after.

“Mycroft!” you were taken aback, but still attempted to explain your situation. “She was abandoned on the side of the road, no collar, no chip. I couldn’t leave her there!”

“Do you know how many shelters there are in London? One-thousand-two-hundred-and-twenty-seven! Any one of them would have taken it in.” Mycroft was exasperated. “Y/N, please think before making such decisions…” he trailed off, softening his tone and expression as he caught sight of your teary eyes. He walked to you, touching your cheeks and kissing your forehead. “I love you. I don’t love that,” he indicated to the puppy with his head. “I do not want this matter to cause any stress to our relationship. I’m sorry for shouting at you.”

You nodded, forcing a smile. “It’s okay. I’ll see what I can do about her as soon as possible.”

You understood where Mycroft was coming from. Both of you worked full-time, and taking care of a puppy who was rapidly transforming into a full-grown dog was like taking care of a toddler. She would need to be trained, spayed, played with for mental stimulation… it was going to be a lot.

While Mycroft showered, you heated up dinner. As the two of you ate, the puppy awoke and padded to the dining room, watching Mycroft curiously. The two of them stared at the other intently, frozen in place, and you watched in amusement. 

That night, you lay in bed on your side against Mycroft’s chest. It was a miracle that the puppy had not followed you upstairs, but was instead sleeping soundly in the living room. 

-

Mycroft had been sitting on the sofa after dinner, reading their mail while she tried to reach the seat beside him. Watching her struggle for a couple of minutes from the corner of his eye, he finally sighed and picked her up. She lay down next to Mycroft’s side, and he begrudgingly had let her. She fell asleep, as Mycroft mumbled, mostly to himself. “You don’t have a name, do you? You are rather annoying, going to places you don’t belong. Sofas are for humans, the dog bed, as implied in the name, is for you.” Mycroft thought for a moment, then chuckled in revelation. “Sheryl.” He seemed pleased with the name.

-

“Mycroft?” you say quietly, unable to see him. The curtains have been drawn for the night, the bed toasty from your combined body heat. 

“Hmm?”

“Are you jealous of her?”

There is a pause. “That is preposterous! Go to sleep,” you can feel him shaking his head as he is ripped from his near sleep.

You smile to yourself, turning around and kissing his cheek before drifting off to sleep.

-

Days went by, and you spent all of your lunch breaks and the extra ten minutes you had in the mornings at work calling animal shelters in London, despite the heartache. It would not be difficult at all to get the pup into one, just inhumane. Unsurprisingly, they were all overcrowded and underfunded. You glanced up from the website you were reading on your phone to the stack of paperwork overshadowed by your boss. You sighed.

“Working, are we, Mr/Mrs/Mx Holmes?” Ms Smallwood sneered, saying your name as if it were sour milk.

“Yes, apologies, ma’am. No excuses,” you said, grabbing a pen and opening the first file. 

Her beady eyes watched you for a moment before huffing and storming out on her four-inch heels.

You shot Mycroft a quick text.

Going to be late, sorry. Lots of paperwork, ughh. Can’t wait to get a transfer. - Y/F/I.H.

Don’t worry, my love. I’ll have dinner and a bath ready. Don’t stress, my darling. I shall see you this evening. - M.H.

You smiled at your husband’s preemptiveness, silently thanking the universe for having him to go home to. 

It was quarter-to-seven when you arrived home. You walked through the hallway past the empty study and dining room, the aroma of dinner making your mouth water. In the living room, you could see Mycroft, engrossed in reading the newspaper… out loud? Mycroft saw you, and hushed you, pointing to the sleeping puppy curled up against his belly. He finished reading one last sentence of today’s headlining news: ‘Two murdered bodies found in abandoned freezer at Wembley Sainsbury’s.’ 

“Goodnight, Sheryl, sleep well,” Mycroft said quietly, putting the newspaper down and patting her gently before picking her up and placing her in her bed. He then walked over to you. “Hello, darling, how was your day?” 

“Sheryl, huh?” you laughed.

“Too late to change it now, I have already had it engraved,” Mycroft said matter-of-factly. “I have already fed her–one cup–walked her around the estate, had her pee, and read her a bedtime story, of course.”

You squealed in joy, engulfing Mycroft in a hug. “We’re keeping her?!”

“Yes, of course we are, darling. How else will I keep in shape?”

“Oh, Mycroft! You’re already perfect. I love you! I can’t believe we get to keep her!”

Every night onwards, Sheryl lay in wait in front of the dinner table for the two of you to finish eating and take her for a walk. She would chase butterflies in the very park she was found in before returning to her home, where Mycroft would read her the headlines and let her pick her bedtime story from the papers. Some days it was stock trading tips, obituaries and juicy celebrity gossip, other days it was how her Uncle Sherlock was saving the arses of the Met Police, and gruesome murder-suicides. Every night, she fell asleep in Mycroft’s lap, even when she grew up to be a huge German shepherd. Every night, you snapped a picture of the two, compiling the photographs into an album that showed how their bond strengthened and their kinship blossomed.

-

Tagging: @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @that-ace-idiot

[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

[specialagentlokitty]

Mycroft x reader - reminder

Hi can I request a Mycroft x reader? Just some fluff please - @marvelfunkopop101💜

Mycroft Holmes was not a man of affectionate words, or affection at all really, he didn’t like to be hugged, or to hold hands, or say how he felt.

But he showed it in the little things he would do.

He always made sure you had your favourite drink, he would always make sure you got home safe or to work safe.

He would kiss your forehead when he saw you, or when he was leaving.

But sometimes.

Just sometimes.

He would come in, like he just had, and he would get changed, and make his was over to the bed to sit with you.

Except instead of sitting, he laid down, resting his head on your stomach as he sighed softly.

Reaching a hand out, you placed it on his head, and you smiled softly at him.

“Darling?” You asked.

“It’s been a long day…”

You nodded your head, and leant down, turning his face towards you, you kissed his forehead and smiled down at him.

Mycroft smiled a little at you, and he rolled over, laying on his back, but his head still in your stomach as you gently ran your thumb along his cheek.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“No, I don’t want to bore you with the events of my day, I’d just like to lay here if I can?”

“Of course you can.”

He smiled and placed his hand on your wrist, running his thumb along your skin, and you smiled, going back to watch the Tv.

He wouldn’t sat there for long, he never did, so when he began to sit up you let him go so he could.

He tapped your shoulder and you sat up as well, letting him wrap an arm around your shoulder, guiding you into his side.

And you curled into him, resting your head on his arms and he held you to his side.

There wasn’t many words needed, sometimes he just liked to sit in silence, and you didn’t mind it at all.

So, that’s what you did, you felt his fingers run through your hair, and his thumb on his other hand trail small circled into the skin of your arm.

You placed your hand on his hand and you took it from your head, holding it next to your face and Mycroft smiled softly down at you.

He was completely fascinated by you, in love with you.

“You’re wonderful…” he whispered.

You laughed softly, and you sat up.

Placed your hands on his face, you leant forward and softly kissed him before you pulled away.

“I love you.” He said.

“I love you too.”

He kissed you once more before letting you return to laying down on him.

Sometimes he liked to tell you he loved you, just as a little reminder in case you didn’t know

[sleep-i-ness]

MAIN MASTERLIST

Mycroft Holmes

Between Duty and Desire (39.1k - completed series) - Mycroft Holmes is the the object of all your heart's desires, your boss's boss, and the bane of your existence. And you know that he will never see you as more than a goldfish, despite Sherlock's insistence, so when Sherlock concocts some outlandish plan to make Mycroft realise that you're clearly the one for him, you decide to just go along with it. (posted on AO3)

[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 ||

[french-vanilla-in-the-clouds]

𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: When Y/N is invited to a polo tournament on Deville manor, she never expects for the Holmes boys to fall for her during the weekend getaway. Though Sherlock is keen to make sparks fly, his love for Y/N seems more and more like a competition with his older brother.

Y/N soon learns that she has more on the line than simply getting her heart broken. She might also be at the centre of a dark conspiracy. 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐲, 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭

────────⊳⋆⊲────────

"Do you see John, anywhere?" Mary peered through her binoculars, searching for her husband on the open field. “I promised him we’d pop by before the match.”

Y/N huffed in amusement. Earlier that week, Mycroft had invited John, Greg, Sherlock, and by extension, Mary and Y/N to join him for a weekend's polo tournament. The four men would play against a team of Mycroft's colleagues over the course of three days. It was a prestigious event and several higher up's in the British government would be in attendance. 

The renowned Deville manor served as lodging and camp, with the lord of the house acting as master of ceremonies. Lord Deville's property extended throughout the English countryside, its picturesque landscape making the ideal spot for a tournament.  

Y/N had been quick to accept Mycroft's invitation, only waiting for Sherlock's agreement before blurting out a sharp "yes," herself. She'd been doing that a lot lately - observing Sherlock's interactions from a distance. She ached for his approval but couldn't discern why. 

Y/N ambled past a team of rival polo players with Mary still linked to her arm. Socialites mingled in groups around her. They chatted softly, their fingers wrapped around champagne glasses. Y/N instinctively smoothed down the front of her blouse. She scanned the manor's busy plot and noticed a row of security personall in the backstands working to blend into the background. It didn't come as a surprise that Mycroft had invited them to such a shrouded event. The man dealt in secrets, even during his leisure time. 

"Have you spoken to Mycroft lately?" Y/N asked absently. 

Mary dropped her binoculars. "He's not exactly my confidant. Why do you ask?" 

Secretly, Y/N was intrigued by Mycroft's low profile, but she shrugged it off under Mary's stare. "I was just wondering. Isn't it strange that he invited us all for a weekend getaway? Social niceties aren't really his speed." 

Mary pursed her lips. "You know, I was wondering that myself. I’d say he has something hidden up his sleeve." 

“There’s certainly more to him than meets the eye,” Y/N murmured. She ignored Mary’s raised brow and changed the subject. "Anyway, I can't wait to see Sherlock in his riding gear. Do you think he's ever played polo before?" She bit back a smile trying to imagine Sherlock in sport's attire. 

"Somebody is awfully curious about the Holmes boys today." Mary's eyes gleamed with mischief. "In love with them, are you? Oh, the scandal!” 

Y/N clicked her tongue in annoyance, off put by the unwitting truth in Mary’s quip.  

"I'm only teasing, love." Mary leaned her head against Y/N's shoulder and tried to suppress a giggle. "Come on, I think I see our boys just up ahead!" 

The pair stumbled along a gravel path until they came to the main stables behind the playing field. Inside, John and Greg stood next to their ponies, both dressed in their polo whites and helmets. 

Greg was the first to see them. "Oi, ladies!" he called. "What do you think?" He gave them a twirl, showing off his garb. 

They clapped, both delighted by the outfits. "Your turn, John!" Mary called to her husband. "Give us a spin!" 

John rubbed his pony's mane. "Absolutely not." 

"Come on, mate," Greg urged. "Just a small one." John glanced at his friends and sighed. He spun in a circle begrudgingly and ended with a bow. "Are you satisfied?" 

"Don't play coy," Mary chided. She slid over to her husband's side and kissed his cheek. "You really do look quite sexy." 

"You think so?" John pressed his forehead against hers, pleased with the attention. 

Greg and Y/N shared a meaningful glance, neither a stranger to the Watsons' marital bliss. "Almost make you want a love of your own, don't they, these two?" Greg whispered dreamily. Y/N hummed in agreement. The Holmes brothers flashed in her mind. There and gone again in an instant. Though she smiled, the inspector's words brought an ache to the pit of her stomach. 

She ignored it. 

The sound of footsteps sounded from the other end of the stable. "Fashionably late, are we?" Sherlock stepped in with Mycroft in tow. His posture was relaxed and he radiated a confidence that could be perceived as hubris by those that didn’t know him. The polo whites clung to his lithe frame, perfectly creased and tailored. A red stripe ran up his rider's boots, a striking contrast against the bright ensemble. Though Sherlock had never worn athlete's wear before, if Y/N hadn't known him, she'd swear that he'd been riding since his youth. 

"Terribly sorry about the holdup," Mycroft called out. He glared at his brother with controlled irritation. He also wore the team colours, though his uniform was stitched with a gold crest on the breast pocket, marking him as Captain. He stepped forwards until he reached Y/N's side. He caught her eyes, his gaze inquisitive. "A gentleman never leaves a lady waiting,” he said. Mycroft's words were deliberate and relayed an intimacy that Y/N had never expected from him before. She studied him, surprised by the soft smile peaking from the corners of his lips. He seemed pleased to see her. 

The spell was broken when Sherlock squeezed himself between the pair. "Yes, quite right. Thank you for that rather mediaeval anecdote, Mycroft. Now, why don't you check on the ladies near the playing field instead? I'm sure they're keen to see you. Wives of your colleagues and all." Though his tone was light, a darker mood hid beneath Sherlock's words. He held his brother's gaze with steady defiance, daring him to stay. 

Mycroft spared a last nod at Y/N before stepping out from the stables. Y/N stared after him, puzzled albeit intrigued by his energy. In her bewilderment, she nearly missed the gentle touch of Sherlock's hand upon the small of her back. She looked at him, flustered by the doting gleam in his eye. 

He moved his hand lower until it wrapped around her waist. With the other, he fetched the reins of his mare, guiding it out from the stall. “John, Lestrade, I’ll meet you on the pitch. Five minutes, no more.” Sherlock dipped down until his lips were level to Y/N’s ear. "Walk with me," he breathed. 

Y/N felt a pleasant warmth at the contact. She followed him and though time didn't still, it slowed enough for her to question her affections. 

Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes. 

Two brothers with distinct sovereignty. Both intent on surpassing the other on every intellectual front. Beyond that, a rivalry existed between them, one that transcended their skills of deduction. Contention came naturally between the brothers. One need only imagine what might happen if passion were introduced to the equation. 

“Are you alright?” 

Y/N blinked. Her thoughts had raced off and now Sherlock was studying her carefully, concern creasing his brow. He had led her to a garden labyrinth, the scent of English yew unfurling around them. 

Y/N braved a smile. He was beautiful in the sunlight. She reached out and caressed the mare that had cantered alongside them. It nuzzled into her palm. “I’m fine,” she said. “I was just thinking about the match.” 

Sherlock nodded absently. He placed his hand over Y/N’s so that they both caressed the horse. She could feel his pulse, controlled but forceful against her skin. She met his eyes. She nearly shied away from his focus but he tipped her chin forwards with the shadow of a touch. 

“You’re lying,” he said. “You were thinking of me.” 

Y/N tensed and the mare whinnied. 

Sherlock took both her hands in his own and held them to his chest. “Do you think of me often, I wonder? Do you think of my touch? I know I dream of yours.” Y/N dropped her arms to her sides, numb with anticipation. Though anticipation of what, she couldn’t discern. 

Sherlock Holmes was her friend and nothing more. She couldn’t let her silly fantasies seep into their exchanges.

The overshadow from the noon sun cast darkened contours on Sherlock’s face but it didn’t harden the softness of his eyes. Y/N could no longer deny the implication of his words when she felt the push of his leg press her against the labyrinth’s hedged wall. The prick of branches pierced her back but she held her breath. 

“Is this alright?” Sherlock breathed. He had already drawn nearer, his body flush against hers. His breaths were laboured, the faint touch of his lips on her cheek electric.

Y/N nodded. 

Sherlock pulled back. “I need to hear you say it,” he said. “Otherwise…” he let the sentence linger, giving weight to his words. 

“Yes.”

He exhaled as though he were expecting a rebuff. “Thank you.”

Sherlock licked his lips before dipping forwards and catching Y/N’s kiss. He held the back of her neck, the softness of his touch suggesting a fear of fragility. Y/N tensed despite the thrill of their tryst. Her blouse dropped from a shoulder and she gasped at the sudden coolness punctuating her warmth.

Sherlock grinned as he pressed another kiss to her neck. He caught the exposed skin from the fallen sleeve and breathed in the fading scent of her perfume and the labyrinth’s flora. He pushed deeper into the crook of her neck, landing tender kisses along the delicate line towards her jaw. 

Y/N stood rigid at first, her chin resting against Sherlock’s shoulder. All she could do was grip at the back of his polo shirt, still disconcerted by his sudden show of passion. “I love you,” she heard him murmur into her neck. Her breath caught before she heard it again. “I love you.”  

Y/N let her head fall back on the hedged wall. She felt as though seeing through a veil, unsure of this new development. Just yesterday, Sherlock had treated her as a friend. Though she always wished for it to be true, she hadn’t expected to become his lover only hours later. Mycroft flashed through her mind, but she waved him away.

Why was she thinking of the elder Holmes brother when Sherlock stood there having just confessed to loving her? Mycroft had shown her a rare kindness today, but she couldn’t pretend that it meant anything. 

What had changed? 

“Sherlock, I —”

“Five minutes, nothing more, was it?” a voice called out suddenly. 

Y/N flinched and quickly straightened herself out from behind Sherlock. She peeked behind his shoulder and saw Mycroft standing across from them. He seemed bemused yet his eyes relayed vexation and hurt. 

Sherlock turned and faced his brother. “Has it been longer than that already?” he asked jokingly. “Time seems to have gotten away from me.” 

“Indeed. You’re already six minutes past the mark.” Mycroft geared forwards, his steps deliberate, his mood icy. “Hello Miss Y/N,” he said. “I didn’t expect you to be the keeper of my brother’s protraction.” 

Sherlock looked back at Y/N and grinned. “Our meeting was imperative,” he assured his brother, arrogance dripping into his tone. 

“Recreational,” Mycroft corrected. 

The tension was heavy between both brothers and Y/N shuddered at their subtle resentment. “Sherlock, lead the mare to the pitch,” Mycroft ordered. 

Sherlock stood firmly. “Can’t you?” he said innocently.

“I can’t always be the one to clean up after you. Take responsibility, brother mine. Or else you’ll lead her astray.” 

Mycroft’s words were cryptic and Y/N got the sense that the conversation had veered away from the mare. 

Sherlock tensed but did as his brother commanded. Just before he left though, he turned to smile at Y/N. “We’ll pick up on this, I swear to it,” he said, pressing one last kiss to her cheek. She smiled back but felt nervous at the unspoken truths writhing between both brothers’ obscured words.

They were hiding something and she was somehow involved. 

Mycroft watched his brother leave before approaching Y/N. “This is already a strenuous event for me,” he said to her. “Do not prolong my agony.” 

Y/N shuddered. “What do you mean?” 

He smiled, but there was a sadness to it. “You look lovely in that dress,” he said, ignoring her question. 

“Mycroft?”

“Tread lightly. There are secrets to this tournament that I fear will destroy you.” He sighed. “Take care of your heart, for it will prove your undoing.” Mycroft unclipped the stitched crest from his breast pocket and handed it to Y/N. “Maybe this will help in time.” 

Y/N watched as he stepped away after his brother. Her heart was beating fast and the labyrinth’s glamour was slowly losing its appeal.

What had just happened?

Y/N felt as though caught in a web. She couldn’t distinguish sibling rivalry from the threat of something more sinister happening on the Deville manor. She tucked the crest into her pocket, too off put to inspect the strange gift just yet. 

She thought of Sherlock. Did he truly love her? It had all seemed so perfect until those last few moments. 

Y/N tried to steady the frantic beating of her heart. She would search for answers soon enough. She would unveil the Holmes brothers’ secrets. She would decipher the ragings of her emotions. Until then, there was a polo match to attend. She hoped it would run smoothly but in the deepest parts of her, she knew:

Madness would ensue.

────────⊳⋆⊲────────

*grabs you by the coat collar* wanna read Feels Like Christmas?

Hey guys! I hope you enjoyed this!!! I'm thinking of making "Game of Kings" a three part series, but I'm really not sure. It's a maybe possibly at the moment. So, if you're wondering about the sudden click where Sherlock randomly professed his love to Y/N without any context to the nature of their relationship... I'm leading up to that (hopefully). Is it genuine??? Is he playing with her heart??? Protecting her, maybe??? I don't know. And the sitch with Mycroft will come into play too. I hope this fic wasn't too messy.

tagging: @twisted-monster ​ @starryeddie ​ @the-chaotic-cow ​ @turkisherlockian ​ @aephereal ​ ​ @andthevillainshallrises ​ ​ @baby-bloos ​ ​ @cookiemumster1 ​ ​​ @eternal-silvertongued-prince ​ ​ @bogginsreadings ​ ​ @lumosouls ​ @spencerrxids​ @serenity-lattes ​ @msseijii @classickook ​ @starstruck-loner ​    @i-beg-your-pardon-laufeyson ​ @lucywrites02 ​ @danzalladaggers @mrs-holmes ​ @pytharuw @antsn​ @kabubsmagga @newtsniffles ​ @cemak​ @sleepilysworld ​ @bakerstreethound ​

[distinguishedkryptonitecreator]

𝕸𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖞'𝖘 𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖇𝖑𝖊𝖒

Pairing: Sherlock x reader

Series: Sherlock BBC

MASTERLIST

I II

Synopsis: You discover that you are in love, unfortunately with the same man your friend loves. How will you survive that.

Note: English is not my native language, so some words may not make sense, apologies in advance.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐈

━━━━♡

The name Thomas Beckett made my heart skip a beat.

“Thomas Beckett? What’s going on with him?” I asked, trying to keep calm as I sat on the sofa. The gears in my mind began to spin rapidly, trying to understand why they were mentioning my boss’s partner.

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if my words had bothered him, though he didn’t show it openly. His rigid posture and the way he clenched his jaw revealed that something else was going on. Mycroft, on the other hand, seemed impassive, as if he enjoyed my confusion.

“Miss, it’s quite simple. We know for certain that, despite holding a position not so prominent within the company hierarchy, you have certain connections with high-ranking officials,” Mycroft commented with a tone that carried a hint of disdain. I glared at him.

A position not so important? Really? My role as a senior developer was more than relevant. It wasn’t for nothing that I had spent so much time studying, sacrificing sleep and proper meals, taking various part-time jobs with low wages to pay for my studies, and enduring the distance from my family while living in a noisy shared flat. I was proud of what I had achieved and all I had done to get there, so his words only made me boil with anger.

“You know, I’m starting to think I might not want to collaborate with you,” I replied, crossing my arms firmly. Mycroft raised an eyebrow, but before he could respond, Sherlock intervened, surprising even his brother.

“Listen, I know you got your position thanks to that intern program, and also that...” Sherlock paused, his blue eyes locking with mine as if he were unsure about what he was about to say, “that you have a history with Beckett.”

The mere mention of my past with Thomas made me feel as though the ground was slipping away from under my feet. It was true that Thomas and I had been more than friends in college. We were inseparable, and eventually, we became a couple. Thomas had always been the brilliant and attractive one, so his success with women didn’t surprise me. There was something about his charisma that drew people to him like a magnet.

However, everything ended. We went our separate ways, each with our own dreams. There was no sense in holding back. I would never forget the surprise I felt when, years later, I encountered him in one of the hallways of the place, with his immaculate dark suit and polished shoes. A smile from ear to ear that I hadn’t seen in a long time. The Thomas Beckett I knew as a student was now a man who had built his own cybersecurity company.

“What does that have to do with the case?” I asked, trying to sound more confident than I felt.

Sherlock let out a sigh, as if finding it difficult to explain the obvious.

“Everything,” he replied with a coldness that left me stunned. “Beckett is under suspicion, and we need to know how involved he is in certain activities. Your proximity to him, both personal and professional, could be key to uncovering what’s really going on.”

“Suspicion of what?” I pressed, starting to feel that what I was about to hear would not be pleasant.

Sherlock looked at me with a mix of seriousness and something I couldn’t quite identify.

“Beckett is being investigated for alleged involvement in an industrial espionage network. There are suspicions that he has been selling confidential information from several tech companies, including yours, to foreign competitors. And it’s not just about his disloyal behavior. There are indications that this data is being used for purposes that compromise national security. There have been leaks pointing to connections between Beckett and an organization called Argus, known in the underworld for handling military contracts and cyber warfare technology.”

My heart raced as I processed his words. Thomas involved in something so murky. It was hard to believe, but I knew Sherlock didn’t say these things lightly.

“And what does this have to do with me?” I asked, though a part of me already suspected the answer.

“As a developer, you have access to sensitive information, and your past relationship with Beckett could have facilitated his access to what he needed,” Sherlock replied, his words sharp but laden with a concern he was trying to hide. “We need to know if you have any knowledge of something that could incriminate him or if you’ve been used, even unknowingly, to access that information.”

“Look, I understand this is a shock to you, but we’re not here to accuse you,” John interjected for the first time, his usual calm tone. “We want your help because we know you’re not involved, but also because you could be the key to stopping this before it spirals out of control. If Beckett is innocent, we’ll prove it. But if he’s not, you need to know he could be using his relationship with you for his own ends.”

“Exactly,” Mycroft added with a slight nod toward John. “We need someone on the inside, someone who can verify if our suspicions are correct. And who better than someone who has Beckett’s trust.”

My mind was in full turmoil. I knew that working with Sherlock and Mycroft could lead to unimaginable situations, but I never thought I’d find myself in something so serious, and even less that Thomas could be involved in something like this. What would this mean for my career, for my life? The consequences of collaborating with them could be devastating. I could lose my job, and my reputation would be in ruins. But if what they were saying was true, if Thomas was really involved in an espionage network, ignoring it wasn’t an option.

“If I agree to help, what guarantees do I have that this won’t affect my professional life?” I asked finally, looking directly into Sherlock’s eyes, hoping for some sign that he understood the risks I was facing.

Sherlock held my gaze for a moment that seemed eternal before responding, this time in a much softer tone, almost a whisper:

“You have my word that we will do everything possible to protect you. But we need you.”

I knew that getting involved in something like this could have severe consequences. Not only for me but for my career as well. What would happen if the company discovered that I was helping Mycroft and Sherlock in an investigation that could involve one of its major partners? The collateral damage could be devastating. However, there was something in Sherlock’s gaze, an indication that this case was not just another for him, that made me reconsider.

And although part of me knew I should stay away, that getting involved could destroy everything I had worked for, another part, perhaps the one that still cared for Thomas or the one that didn’t want to leave Sherlock to face this alone, decided to take the risk.

“Alright,” I said finally, feeling a knot in my stomach. “I’ll help.”

John nodded with an expression of gratitude, while Mycroft simply gave a calculating smile. Sherlock, however, did not show any immediate reaction. Only a slight glimmer in his eyes indicated that he had been expecting this response. I wondered if there was something more behind that look, something more personal. But there was no time for reflection. I was about to enter a dangerous game, and there was no turning back.

As they prepared to leave, my phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen to see a message from Molly.

┏━━━━•❅•°•❈ •°•❅•━━━━┓

“Hey! Fancy a girls' night out? We haven’t had one in ages. Let me know!” ✓✓

┗━━━━•❅•°•❈ •°•❅•━━━━┛

━━━━♡

NOTE II:

I'm so sorry for missing out. I've been a little unmotivated and university doesn't help. But I hope you liked the chapter. You will hear from me soon, I promise.

[himegureisu]

Hey just wanted to ask if you'll do a next part for the Mycroft x reader ff 'the woman' maybe where his sister has also captured his s/o and she gets hurt

Was actually contemplating what to do about the later seasons because I didn’t like the Eurus arc.

[iobsessoverfictionalmen]

Coming soon....

Send me an ask or leave a comment on this post if you want to be tagged when I upload chapters.

Want to listen to the playlist that I've created for the fic? Enjoy!

[madlittlecriminal]

Mycroft Holmes Masterlist

*DISCONTINUED*

(*) ➞contains sexual innuendos/light smut

(**) ➞contains smut

(▾) ➞contains angst/trigger warning(s)

(°) ➞authors personal favorites

(…) ➞request

(•) ➞holiday themed

(§) ➞alternate universe (AU)

(≈) ➞headcanons (HC)

(۵) ➞prompts

(❅) ➞blurbs

-Creep (▾)(…)

-Little Things Matter (…)(°)

-My Little Tease (…)(*)

-Only You (…)(*)

-Plankton (…)

-Phone (…)

-Quince (…)(°)

-There’s Nothing Holdin’ Me Back (▾)

[shinybearnerd]

“At Dead of Night”

Hi everyone!

This is a little ff for the BBC Sherlock fandom.

It's set a little bit before the events of the third season. So !SPOILER WARNING! if you had not seen it yet.

   Honestly, I don't know what it is. I'm tired and I wanted to exorcise my old obsession with this (wonderful) series by writing something.

It was supposed to be longer, with the reader that finds out that Sherlock is alive and that Mycroft lied to them. Let me know if you're interested in that. I'll do a part 2 if that's the case.

Anyway, I hope you like it. Let me know what you think down below!

(no use of y/n - the reader has they/them pronounce)

-Engish is not my first language. So I'm sorry if there are any mistakes-

Pair: Mycroft x reader, a few remainders of Sherlock x reader

Words: 1,5k

Genre: Fluff , a little bit of Angst

Story: Reader and Mycroft finally have some precious time alone. During this, Reader remembers and thinks about the last three years and his relationship with the Holmes brothers. About that, lately, they have the feeling that the oldest might hide something...

Dining with Mycroft is... strange. Beautiful but strange.

No. Strange is not the right word.

Upsetting, perhaps?

Disarming?

Yes. Disarming is the right word.

You were so used to the half dinners that every so often you and Sherlock indulged between one case and another that remaining seated from ordering to withdrawing the last dish destabilized you in a good way. Even if you can't help but think that with Sherlock you would have had more fun. Not that Mycroft was boring. No, it was quite the opposite.

The charm and elegance of that man had always been something that had fascinated and impressed you. It's a characteristic that could also be seen in the younger of the Holmes brothers but stood out in the movements of the older one. Like right now: he had raised his arm slightly, getting the attention of a waiter who immediately ran towards your table. Then he asked if it might be possible to have another bottle of who knows what fine wine he was craving at that moment. And all you can do is smile at him and restrain the urge you had at that moment to jump on him and make love once again. It mattered little to you if everyone saw you.

Mycroft loved to spoil you.

You came to understand it quite soon. When you pointed out that there was no need and that all that attention could embarrass you, he replied that if you wanted the world, he would have brought it to you on a tray of gold.

That statement turned you on more than you care to admit.

Next month will be the third year since you saw him die. Sometimes that horrible, heartbreaking image would come back to visit you during your nightmares. Since you've been dating Mycroft tho, things started to change.

Having someone take care of you, and granting any kind of wish was incredibly pleasant.

Not that Sherlock didn't care about what you needed. He had his way of dealing with this kind of thing. And, even late at times, your needs were met.

He was a lovable and, more than his pride would admit, forgetful idiot. Your lovable and forgetful idiot.

He has been your rock in difficult times. He was your confidant. A person you could talk to. Over time he too has opened up to your presence and you have discovered a side of Mycroft that you would not even have imagined before.

Then things started to change. And perhaps for the best.

Between one evening together and another, a kiss escaped. Then a date. And after even more time, a night of love at the man's house. The first time after Sherlock's death.

You felt awful. Disgusting.

You hated yourself because you felt like you cheated on Sherlock by sleeping with his brother. With his enemy.

In all this, however, Mycroft was always understanding. He didn't push you into doing anything. He always listened and asked if you were comfortable doing anything.

He was able to make you feel alive and loved once again. Which you didn't think was possible. Spending time with him was magical and incredibly peaceful. Maybe more than you wanted, but you need calm and serenity in your life. So everything was perfect.

Except for one thing. You had the sensation that he was hiding something from you.

As the waiter walked away from your table, Mycroft noticed your gaze on him. He smiled too, taking your hands and leaving a kiss on your skin.

     <<Are you enjoying yourself, my dear?>>

     That nickname always managed to make you blush like a teenager.

    <<Very.>>

    His smile widened. <<I'm happy.>>

He had a strange look in his eyes. Like someone who has a cross to bear.

It's not the first time you've noticed such a look. In these three years, you have noticed it several times. Particularly when he thought you were not watching him.

    <<Hard day at work?>> You ask him.

    He looks down at your hands and strokes them with his thumb. <<No more than others.>>

    <<Something wrong? I see you a little tense, love.>>

    <<I'm fine. Don't worry.>>

    <<Is there anything I can do to help you?>> You ask with a hint of maliciousness in your voice.

You give up, even if momentarily.

Mycroft could be stubborn if he wanted to and you're sure if you insisted you wouldn't get anything out of it. Might as well wait for the moment when he wants to talk.

But you know that something was up.

Mycroft's smile went from adoring to mischievous in fractions of seconds. He was about to say something when he was interrupted by two waiters. One who served you dessert and another who opened the requested bottle and poured it.

    <<What are we toasting to?>> You ask, taking your glass.

    <<To the beautiful person in front of me.>>

    You blush hard while smiling. <<Stop it! You know it bothers me!>>

    He chuckles and clinks both glasses together. <<To you, my love.>>

    <<You know what? I don't want to do anything more for you. Keep your secrets.>>

He looked at you with a beaten puppy gaze as he lowered his wine glass and opened his jacket to reach for his cell phone in the inside pocket. You see him getting white as a ghost as soon as his eyes rest on the name that appears on the screen.

Mycroft opens his mouth to tell you that your beauty was meant to be celebrated every second, when he is interrupted by his cell phone ringing.

     You were annoyed that someone was interrupting you, but you know very well that Mycroft can't help it.

    <<I'm sorry, my dear.>>

He gets up, kisses you and walks towards the exit.

You can see him through one of the vertical windows on either side of the hall. He's tense. Very tense.

He walks slowly up and down the street. He is listening to someone, trying to assess the situation. Suddenly his head snaps up. You can't see his face because of the distance, but you know that it's no good and that Mycroft must leave as soon as possible.

You thank the waiter by leaving a generous tip and get up, walking towards the lobby.

You call the waiter with a wave of your hand, asking for the bill and if it were possible to pack the two desserts to take them away.

In a few minutes, he fixed everything.

    <<Are you going away, miss?>>

    <<I'm afraid so.>>

    <<Okay. Wait here while I get your coats, please.>>

As the woman walks away, you can get a better look at your boyfriend.

His back is straight and tense. The expression is always cold and detached but the movement of his lips makes you understand that he is furious.

You are very concerned about this situation. You’ve never seen him so upset.

The receptionist's voice wakes you from your thoughts.

She moves behind you and helps you put on your coat.

    <<Thank you.>>

    <<You’re welcome, miss. Here. This is your husband's.>> She smiles as she hands you Mycroft's coat.

    <<He’s- ...Thank you. Good evening.>>

Husband...

You’ve never thought about that

As the woman opens the door to let you out you find yourself looking at your left ring finger. Smiling at the idea.

How can't you? Mycroft was perfect.

As soon as you finish the sentence, Mycroft feels weird. He doesn't know what that depends on. He just can't help but smile.

    <<Yes, I'll be right there.>>

    Your boyfriend has just ended the call when he notices your presence.

    <<I figured that the circumstance was important.>> You tell him as you hand him both the jacket and the box containing the desserts. <<And these are both yours. From how tense I see you, I know you deserve them all.>>

    <<I love you so much...>>

You both are surprised and stare blanc at each other.

It's the first time either of them has said the l-word.

A taxi appeared, parking in front of you. You share another kiss before the eldest Holmes opens the door for you, and then closes it behind you.

    You smile at him. Hug him to you and kiss him. <<I love you too.>>

    He melts under your touch.

    <<I would have liked this evening to have ended in another way...>>

    <<I think we both hoped so.>> You reply mischievously.

    Mycroft chuckles. <<That's not what I meant ... Or at least in part.

<<I have to go...>>

    <<I know.>>

    <<I'll make it up to you.>>

    <<I know that too.>> You stated as you caress his face. <<Can we talk later?>>

    <<Of course. Call me when you arrive.>>

    <<The same goes for you too, Mister.>>

You think for a long time about that "I'll make it up to you". He had an odd tone. As if he was hiding something.

He smiles at you, kisses you one more time and gives directions to the taxi driver.

As soon as the taxi starts you realize that his car has arrived, but Mycroft doesn't get on it. He waits for you to leave, waving at you from a distance. You blow him a kiss and sit up composed.

You suppress a yawn in your throat and blame it all on tiredness and your overthinking. Mycroft has always told you everything. Sure he would not hide something from you... right?

[unusuallysubtext]

I'm a writer with too much time on my hands, excited to see who you come up witb

I am looking for a romantic relationship with any gender

I typically spend my time deeply entrenched in a book or reading some obscure forum for the specific niche I am currently interested in (right now that's the half life game series)

I have shoulder length wavy hair that is naturally brunette that I keep down and my fashion style is whatever is comfortable (Normall byy a black cotton shirt, large black jeans and a watch on my left arm)

I'm good at most mental problems like problem solving (Ironically not maths) and try to help with physical tasks but fail fairly often

Ideal future is any future where I am comftable and with whoever this partner ends up being but would love to settle down in a nice house with a large enough library and expansive garden

Mycroft Holmes

Mycroft Holmes first saw you in Oxford Street's Ruby Jubilee Tea Room.

While it was true that he did not frequent cafés, the Ruby Jubilee was, according to Mycroft, the only worthwhile place to take a break from his steadfast workaholic tendencies and drink tea, as it came with a bonus of observing mere goldfish.

He was in his bubble, they were in their tank.

But you...

Dressed in smart, comfortable (oh! how Mycroft unadmittedly longed for a day where he could match your level of cosiness and ease) oversized jeans and matching black cotton shirt, he watched you delicately hold the teacup to your lips and sip.

You returned to the Ruby Jubilee once a week, and by the third visit, you were vaguely aware of a presence, dark against the ivory walls and milky white furniture with tables laid with lace cloth, and pearly crockery for vanilla cream cakes and Victoria sponges.

You looked to your left to catch the eye of a posh man in a black pinstripe suit.

He smiled softly at you, placing his fork down on a half-eaten slice of cake.

You smiled back, but the connection subsided and you were quickly back to reading.

The next week, sitting alone at your usual table, your focus was broken by a familiar face.

"Good morning. I was hoping this seat wouldn't be taken... Mycroft Holmes is the name."

You introduced yourself, and allowed him to sit down.

That was the first of many more meetings where you would not pick up a novel inside of the Ruby Jubilee, instead absorbed in the beautiful man in front of you and your conversations.

Months later, you were living with Mycroft, in his mansion thirty minutes outside of the London suburbs.

The extensive collections of antique and classic books in the two-story library in the west wing coupled with the expansive gardens planted with roses and archways and a small stream with a little wooden bridge easily filled the hours in your day when Mycroft was working.

When Mycroft happened to be working at home, you would sit in your half of the office with your PC setup and spend time with your video games.

Meanwhile, Mycroft would be coordinating a meeting with the Russian oligarchs about the sanctions on their economy or mediating a borderline war brewing between South Korea and Japan.

However, as soon as Mycroft had a day off, he never failed to whisk you away to the Ruby Jubilee, and gift you with a new novel he had deduced you would like from your previous favourites.

It is an unspoken fact that Mycroft often steals your clothing (hoodies and jumpers) to sleep with or cuddle, or even simply hold and have near him while in the office or sitting room, because it is comfortable.

You ended up buying him baggy jeans and jogging bottoms paired with cotton t-shirts for optimal comfort, but it still took forever to convince him to try them on.

Now he doesn't even blink at his suits when home.

Needless to say, while he may not be one for PDA or excessive touch, he loves you a lot ❤️

-

hope you liked it, @friedtoastandegg! tagging @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @that-ace-idiot @the-girl-who-simps-too-much

Your Sherlock Life asks are still open!