#holmescest

[immokki]

My little brother

[buckingham-ashtray]

do you think ever about the ship name for mycroft/sherlock could have been mycock

[familyromantic]

Would like to see m/m couples on my collab as well, so if you can edit even one slash shipcest couple, please join!!

[sarcasstic-jpmvr]

Saw someone do this thing where they posted the titles of their WIP‘s and then people could vote to read a small excerpt (or just like, the idea of the fic) so here we go

@rabiessnail

[the-invisibility-bloke]

brothers to lovers to enemies to lovers to--

[liveactionproblematicotd]

Today’s problematic ship is Sherlock Holmes and Mycroft Holmes from Elementary

Brother/brother incest

Requested by anonymous

[tired-fandom-ndn]

I didn't like Sherlock as a show but damn, the holmescest community was off the charts. If Elementary had even a fraction of the freak shippers that Sherlock had, I'd be happy 😔

[ivycopper]

I wish I could stop judging myself for the ships my brain feels the need to force onto me.

[writingfanficsfan]

Sherlock/Mycroft. First 2 pages.

“No, Anthea. It’s okay. It’s not an intruder, let the security team know all is well. No. Nothing to worry about. It's just a mild irritation. Go back to sleep. Yes, I will see you at 9 AM. Yes. I am going to bed as well. You do know you are not-” Mycroft stops talking and Sherlock smiles, hearing Anthea’s voice drift into the room. Mycroft rolls his eyes but he’s unable to stop the fondness in his voice when he tells her goodnight. For a moment, Sherlock is jealous. Wanting to hear that fondness directed at him. Mycroft puts the phone down, pinching the bridge of his nose before looking at Sherlock, and Sherlock crosses his legs, raising an eyebrow. 

“A mild irritation? Thank you, brother. I feel very welcome.” 

“It’s 3 in the morning, Sherlock. What are you doing here?” 

“I couldn’t sleep.” Sherlock says, shrugging a shoulder when Mycroft stares at him momentarily. 

“So you decided to cross the half of London to wake me up? Not to mention Anthea and the security team. You are lucky-” 

“It’s not exactly waking you up when you’ve not been to bed.” Sherlock cuts him off, seeing the evidence all over his brother’s face. Sherlock tilts his head to the side, taking a moment to take it all in. The bags underneath his brother’s eyes, the deep lines around his mouth, the paleness of his skin, the stiffness of his body. It’s all clear to see and that worries him because normally Mycroft is a master at hiding it all from him. 

“Are you okay? You look terrible.” 

“Thank you, Sherlock. That makes me feel better. Always lifting my spirits up, don’t you?” Mycroft says, rubbing his forehead and Sherlock’s face contorts. He’s not been a good brother for a long time and in a flash, he remembers every moment he’s been mean or dismissive of his older brother. The guilt weighs on his heart and he fidgets with his fingers, knee bouncing fast when he uncrosses his legs. Coming here was probably a bad idea but he couldn’t stop himself. He just needed to see him. 

Mycroft’s eyes meet his, seeing every emotion on Sherlock’s face and Mycroft sighs, placing his hands on the desk in front of him. 

“So, you couldn’t sleep?” 

“No.” 

“Have you tried counting sheep? Or warm milk?” 

“Don’t mock me, Mycroft.” Sherlock says tensely, feeling hurt in a new way. He looks away, crossing his arms over his chest again, feeling small and unsure. He shouldn’t have come here. 

“It’s 3 AM. Trust me, Bee. I’m not in the mocking mood.” 

“Bee. It’s been a long time since you’ve called me that.” Sherlock whispers after a moment, the nickname brings all sorts of new feelings to the surface. He can’t help but smile, a light blush on his cheeks as he meets his brother’s eyes. Some of the unease smelts away, the nickname warming him up from the inside. 

“Apologies, I’m-”

“It’s- It’s fine. I- It’s fine.” Sherlock reassures, his voice sounding a tad off, his cheeks feeling warmer and Mycroft’s eyes widen when he notices the change. It makes Sherlock’s heart skip a beat, maybe two, and he digs his nails into the flesh of his arms, trying to ground himself. 

“I thought you hated nicknames.” 

“Only when they are said with malice. You- You don’t mean it in a bad way.” Sherlock says, maybe a tad surprised by the realization. 

“No. I don’t. I never did.” Mycroft says softly and Sherlock needs to look away. It’s too much and he’s already feeling vulnerable with the 8 hours of sleep he’s had in the past 5 days total. His mind is working overtime again and none of his usual tricks are helping. He needs to sleep, wants to sleep but for some reason, he can’t seem to calm himself down enough to try and start. So he’s here. Hoping his brother will find a way to help him. Hoping his brother will want to help him, that way. Sherlock swallows, fidgeting again, stomach doing a swoop as flashes of years ago cross his mind. Before he can get carried away Mycroft yawns and Sherlock’s eyes snap up to him. 

“Let’s go to bed, Mycroft. You shouldn't be working at 3 in the morning.” 

“Pot, kettle, Sherlock.” Mycroft deadpans, quick as a snake and Sherlock rolls his eyes, grumbling again. Something warm spreads inside his belly when Mycroft laughs and he stands up, rounding the desk and holding out his hand. 

“Come on.” Sherlock says, gesturing with his hand but Mycroft just looks at it, pulling back with his chair, eyes scanning Sherlock’s face and frame.

“What?” Sherlock snaps, feeling exposed as he pulls his hand back, crossing and uncrossing his arms. “What?” 

“You know we can’t-”

“Mycroft!” 

“Sherlock.” Mycroft whispers and Sherlock swallows, hearing the longing or regret in his brother’s voice. Sherlock blinks his eyes, crossing his arms again and this time Mycroft does stand up. Sherlock shakes his head when he feels Mycroft’s hands on them but he doesn’t let go, just brushing his cheek with his thumbs until he meets his gaze. 

[everythingcanadian]

Sherlock/Watson/Lestrade/Mycroft idea

Just joined this fandom. And i have a thought here.( Yes this includes holmescest. Fuck off if you don't like it.)

And it may have already been said.

But the skull Sherlock has in the flat being used as Yorick's skull in a small reciting of Hamlet.

It's a Sunday. Neither Greg nor Mycroft are needed at their places of work. So it's a rare day off for all of them.

Greg is slowly making himself and Mycroft cups of afternoon coffee. A small indulgence they share and enjoy. The little frother Sherlock gave him at a crime scene whirring away in a small metal carafe to create light and cold milk foam.

A case had been solved on Friday morning in the wee hours, so Sherlock is content to relax for the moment. He's playing with his fingers on the chair's armrests, mentally going through a section of a piece of music he's been lowly composing.

John is writing something down on a pad of paper with the pen Mycroft got him for Christmas. The buttery soft scratch of the fountain pen in his hand is a delightful harmony to the soft tapping of Sherlocks fingers and socked toes along with the even hum of the frother.

And Mycroft is perfectly happy relaxing on the couch with his eyes closed, listening to the soft trio of sounds in 221B. The domestic silence is a balm over his usually busy mind. The slippers Greg had told him to get were warm and cozy as he had his feet elegantly proped up on the fool rest John had bought for the flat.

The silence never lasts. It only pauses.

They had put their mundane conversation on hold for the few minutes it took for Greg to get himself and Mycroft a treat. And to toss the pack of dark chocolate coated digestives to Sherlock. And to bring a small packet of crisps for John to pick at.

Once he had sat back down next to Mycroft on the couch. However, it was like someone had pressed play again.

They had started out earlier with reminiscing on University days. Then Greg had laughed and said Sherlock probably blew through all his classes in one year. Which then dragged them down a line of their early childhood and teenage educations.

"What load of tripe did you lot have to read for Shakespeare. We had a play each year from year 7 until year 11." John had bemoaned. "I then had The Dumb Waiter for my GCSE program. Thank christ."

Greg smiled into his mug when he heard Mycroft scoff. This was good.

"Shakespeare may be entirely over taught but his tragedies still hurt to experience."

"You had Macbeth, didn't you?" John lifted his pen and looked at Mycroft.

"Three bloody years in a row." The mild disgust on Mycroft’s face had both Greg and John grinning. "I didn't really care for the plays, Shakespeare or otherwise. The epics were more for me."

"Posh boy." John teased with affection.

"Indeed."

Greg swallowed around the rich warmth. "We had Romeo and Juliet for the 8th. Then Othello for the 9th. Then the two Richards. Got stuck with The Tempest in uni. It was alright."

Sherlock laughed. And then bit his lip to try to keep it in. But it was woefully impossible.

"Thanks, love." Greg's voice belayed his eyeroll. "What did you have?"

"He got lucky. Only had to do two." Mycroft said through his teeth. Semi-annoyed.

"Macbeth. And, Hamlet."

"Is that why you have the skull?" Greg's brows rose.

"Oh- no, that's a different item altogether. The original was blown up, remember? I replaced it. But-" Sherlock stood up, putting the still unopened pack of biscuits on the floor next to his chair. He glided easily over to his skull friend and picked it up. He held it out and regarded it. A smile flicked up his lips. John capped his pen and sat back in his desk chair as Sherlock cleared his throat and stood tall, face changing into one of teasing but serious nature as he pressed his voice to be bold.

"Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio. A fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. He hath borne me on his back a thousand times. And now how abhorred in my imagination it is!

My gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kiss'd I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? Quite chap- fall'n?

Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come. Make her laugh at that."

Sherlock bowed when he heard the claps from his lovers, Greg taking the piss and shouting, "Bravo, bravo! Encore!"

Sherlock snorted before placing the skull back on the mantle. Patting the cranium lightly before going back to his chair.

"You did enjoy the theatrical, brother mine." Mycroft sighed it softly, "I remember you performing the whole of Henry the fifth's speech. Quite emotional for me to hear you like that."

Sherlock closed his eyes and tipped his head in a bow.

John's little smile grew to be that all encompassing hug of one. Where his eyes softened and it made you feel safe. "I'd love to see that. I bet it's a deep moment."

"My voice cracked in the middle of it on my last performance of it."

"It was a- fragile time if I remember it right." Greg's voice pitched down as he looked at Sherlock, his hand finding Mycroft’s leg for something to hold. "You wanted to prove you were sober. Finally. We were at Mycroft's home, in the guestroom, and it was officially a month clean. And here Sherlock was, standing on the bed in his pyjamas, voice steady for the beginning, and quieting down as the intimacies of the speech hit him." Greg took another sip of his drink. Licking his lips he tilted his head and kept his brown eyes trained on Sherlock. "It was the most beautiful thing I had ever witnessed. Held you between the two of us we did. Let you cry it all out. Fielded your tantrum after. But it's worth it."

Sherlocks shoulders relaxed as he heard that.

Mycrofts own hum of assurance added to Greg's sentiments.

"And it led us here." Sherlock murmured into the room between them all.

"Indeed it has." Mycroft smiled warmly and placed his free hand over Greg's on his thigh.

[cheekbonesofbenny]

Sherlock roleplay anyone?

Ships -

Johnlock (my main ship)

Sherstrade

Holmescest

Sheriarty

Anderlock

I’m sure it there’s others that I’ve forgotten lol. I will roleplay most M/M ships from the fandom.

I love angst, I have no triggers, but no major character deaths please.

Discord - cheekbonesofbenny #3693

Email - mightybooshfan2010@gmail.com

I look forward to hearing from you.

[immokki]

[marbhastaigh]

Well I just recommended my English prof some quality fanfictions to read.

Some Master/pet (kylo,hux,mitaka) relationship and some holmescest.

He was hooked and I'm shooked

[okariaonb]

Sherlock - Love is Blindness

English Subtiles:

Sous-Titres Français:

Thanks to everyone who interacted with this blog/my videos, it's really motivating! More edits are coming!

Merci à tous ceux qui ont interagi avec ce blog/mes vidéos, c'est vraiment motivant ! D'autres fanvids arrivent !

If you enjoy my videos and would like to support me, here’s my Ko-Fi link :

Si vous aimez mes vidéos et que vous souhaitez me soutenir, voici mon lien Ko-Fi :

[sarcasstic-jpmvr]

“It might amuse you to know that my favourite song on [Madonna’s] other album was “Material Girl”.”

[…]

“Furthermore, it was the song playing in my head when I bought my first bespoke three-piece suit.”

Mycroft added, “And every suit I’ve bought since.”

Entering the Hollocene by EJTrout on ao3

Ok so I’ve been reading this fic for two weeks now bc it’s so long and hinestly it’s sooo good BUT THIS PART CRACKED ME UP SO MUCH LMAOO Myc you’re a gem

[fleetingdesires]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💛

Danni ❤️ It's taken me way too long to do this, but I have some time now so let's get to it. In vaguely descending order:

Marching On | E | 10k | Snarry (and various background relationships)

Fifteen years into Severus and Harry's relationship, the status quo becomes untenable. Harry grapples with no longer being able to turn a blind eye towards Severus' bit on the side, while Severus finally realises that his best might not have been good enough for Harry. And Teddy? Well, he's just the catalyst that brought home the hard truths.

Why I love it: It's love in all its messy reality. Sometimes we make choices we come to regret. Sometimes we make choices we don't regret until someone makes us regret it. Sometimes that regret doesn't feel real or genuine except to the person who feels it. And sometimes, the thing that is sacrificed for love is a piece of your soul. Is that a valid tradeoff? Don't know. Ask yourself. I still am.

The Lover and the Boytoy | E | 10k | Snucius, Drucius, Draco/Lucius/Severus

Draco has been thirsty for his Daddy’s best friend, Severus Snape - and Lucius knows it. Of course he'll indulge his boy, even (or maybe, especially) if it means sharing his lover.

Why I love it: Yet another messy situation. I love them. Sudden emotional intrigue in the middle of a PWP? I didn't see it coming and neither will anyone else. Thanks for spawning brain rot, fic, I *appreciate* it. I guess.

All out of Sorts | E | 1.8k | Snarry

The Sorting Ceremony is for children. When adults attempt it, the results can be rather unexpected as Headmaster Snape, the most Slytherin of Slytherins, finds out. Bad-tempered huffing and puffing ensues.

Why I love it: I made Severus a Hufflepuff. It's fucking hilarious. That's all. 😂

Playing Games | E | 9k | Albus Severus Potter/James Sirius Potter

James thinks they’re just playing Truth or Dare. Al is playing a different game altogether.

Why I love it: Feels like the hottest thing I've ever written. May be influenced by @phenomenalasterisk's amazing podfic of it, which made me blush so hard while driving (my first mistake, really) I had to stop listening halfway through for fear of crashing. Just thinking about it makes me a little hot, ngl.

Settling/Unsettling | E | 29k | Mycroft Holmes/Sherlock Holmes

Mycroft loves the one man he cannot have - his brother. It doesn’t help that their relationship is tattered beyond recognition. When Gregory Lestrade enters his life, he is pleasantly surprised to find that the man is satisfactory, both in and out of bed. If he can't have the one man he wants, he may as well settle for second best. But what happens when events draw the brothers closer together, and the impossible becomes probable?

Why I love it: It is not my finest piece of work. A diamond in the rough is a more accurate description of it. But damn, I still love the plot and want to rewrite it someday.