#mycroft using his gifts wrong

[oxalisvulcanicola]

When you have three kids and two are a threat to national security while the third IS national security and you think it's the latter who needs to grow up.

[jrow]

May Prompts (28)

Day 27 here. Start from the beginning here. Day 29 here.

Empty

He stares at the empty box.

Sherlock isn’t saying anything.

Sherlock opened the gift a good two minutes ago and still hasn’t said a word.

He watched Sherlock for the first minute or so, and saw only a blank expression. So now, he stares at the empty box because he’s terrified about what that blank expression means.

God, he had been so relieved that this was finally happening. His plan coming to fruition. He wanted to wait until Rosie was having her nap for obvious reasons but the past few hours have been excruciating. To be honest, it had taken quite a bit of will power not to thrust the gift in Sherlock’s face the second they arrived at Baker Street.

The hopeful glances from Molly this afternoon hadn’t helped.

But, he made it. And a few minutes ago, Sherlock removed the paper, opened the box, and pulled out the silent violin, various accessories and case. And then said nothing.

So, John is staring at the empty box. He was wrong, the wait this afternoon was a cake walk compared to this.

Finally, after another minute of silence, he looks up tentatively. He lets out a quiet sigh of relief at what he sees.

Sherlock, standing perfectly still, staring at the instrument in his hand.

This is an expression he’s seen before—back when he asked Sherlock to be his best man. It’s a sort of far away look that means Sherlock isn’t angry or busy thinking of how to weasel his way out of this conversation. It’s a look that means Sherlock has made a deduction he can’t quite believe.

It’s time to force Sherlock to say that deduction out loud. Make it real.

“Happy birthday, finally. What do you think?”

“It’s a silent violin.”

“Yes.”

“Top of the line. The London Philharmonic violinists use these to practice.”

“That’s what I was told.”

“You like when I play my violin.”

“Very much.”

“And Rosie loves it.”

“Yes.”

“So, this isn’t a gift for when you are here during the day.”

“Course not, you have your Strat.”

“And, if there is no one to disturb, I can play my Strat at night.”

“True.”

“Mrs. Hudson can’t hear it from her flat.”

“Hmmm.”

“I would only need a silent violin if there was someone else here at night. Sleeping.”

“Yes.”

“Your old room—it’s Rosie’s now.”

“Absolutely.”

“We made that decision during the rebuild. A child’s room. She naps there sometimes. Plays there a lot.”

“Yes, she loves it.”

“Your old bed and dresser are gone. The room upstairs just has a little toddler bed and that child-sized table and chairs. And toys.”

“That’s true.”

“Plus the bookshelf Mycroft made but pretended he bought. All the books he filled it with.”

“Yes. It’s the perfect room for her.

“We could fit a little dresser in there but not much else.”

“No. That’s all she needs though.”

“You can’t sleep there. Couldn’t sleep there.”

“No, it’s Rosie’s room.”

“You can’t sleep on the couch in here either. It would have been awful for your shoulder before your fall. Now it’s out of the question.”

“Agreed.”

“If Rosie is sleeping here regularly, I could use the silent violin so I don’t wake her.”

“Yes. Every night.”

“But that means you would be sleeping here too.”

“Of course.”

“You would need to sleep in a bed. That only leaves one option.”

A deep breath. “Correct.”

“Well, two options. But, you would never ask me to move from here.”

“Course not. This is your home.”

A pause.

“People would talk.”

“Good. I’d expect no less.”

Another pause.

“You have assumed I am gay for some time now.”

“Yes. Is that assumption correct?”

“Yes.” A sharp inhale. “I have assumed you are not entirely straight from the beginning.”

“I think that’s a fair way of putting it.”

“You rebuked people when they assumed we were a couple.”

“I did. Years ago. Haven’t for some time now. You said you were married to your work, but that’s not true anymore either, is it?” He knows he needs to push Sherlock, just a bit.

It works. Sherlock shakes his head, as if coming out of a daze. “I … what’s that?”

He blushes. Sherlock has spotted the case. Was that too sentimental? “It’s errr…the case. For the violin.”

Sherlock slowly runs his hands over it. “It’s her handprint.”

“Errr … yeah. I know pink isn’t exactly your thing, but I let her pick.”

“Her hand is so small.”

“Yeah. But soon it won’t be.” He takes a deep breath. “Thought it would be a nice snapshot of how small she was when she moved in. Because I hope we’ll be here for … well, as long as you’re here.” In for a penny. “If you’ll have us. If you’ll have me.” He smiles. “If there’s space for me in the room down the hall. ‘Cause you’re it for me, Sherlock. I think you always have been.” A feeling of relief washes over him. Whatever happens, at least it’s all in the open now. At least the box is empty.

A long pause. “I think I am going to faint,” Sherlock finally says and then promptly crumbles to the floor.

@keirgreeneyes @raina-at @totallysilvergirl @meetinginsamarra @jolieblack @phoenix27884 @friday411 @calaisreno @lisbeth-kk @safedistancefrombeingsmart @momma2boys @helloliriels @dapetty @quimerasyutopias

[leosficlist]

Johnlock Fluff rec list (so far!)

These will all include heartwarming sweet times, most will include love confessions and first times as well. I tried to make it not-so porny. I am a bit of a stickler for things feeling in character, so if you share that with me then you are in good hands <3

Fluff 2, Fluff 3 ,Fluff 4

A Quiet Murmuration by cathedral_carver 4.6k words

“Just pay me back with one thousand kisses”

notes: domestic, getting together, lots of touches and lingering looks

You Fit Me, Sherlock Holmes by orphan_account 10k words

It feels natural when John slips under the covers as well, and scoots in closer to Sherlock. As Sherlock's arms envelope him tightly, he breathes a sigh of relief. They don't speak and it only takes John five minutes before he starts to drift off. His breathing gets deep and he feels oblivion starting to crawl in on him at the edges. His inhibitions are almost gone as he whispers, "I've missed you," into Sherlock's skin.

Sherlock doesn't reply immediately. Instead he removes a strand of hair from John's forehead.

John is almost completely lost to the world when Sherlock whispers back, "I've missed you, too."

notes: cuddling for an experiment, sherlock writes up a report at the end

Upon Reflection, Tenable Frippery by emmagrant01 1.3k words

“John was, inexplicably, growing a beard.”

notes: first kiss, sherlock loves the beard

Succulent by FinAmour 8.8k words 🔒

“You look nice tonight,” John says, and it all goes downhill from there.

About Sleep and Coffee and the Existence of Fate by Atiki 17.4k words

Naturally, John was startled when suddenly the ultimate solution occurred to him: Marriage. This was, of course, a bit of a fundamental problem rather than an actual solution. One didn't simply use the words “Sherlock” and “marriage” within the same sentence. Not even in a hypothetical context. (Five times John kind of wanted to propose to Sherlock, and one time he didn’t have to.)

A Hesitation Waltz by UrbanHymnal 5.5k words

“He lets the vibrato speak for him: love and loss, triumph and failure, longing for water and a bit of rest after so long a journey. He would follow John into the desert, walk through fire, sacrifice to any God. He would gladly kneel at John’s feet, if only given the chance, and worship him with each breath.”

notes: sherlock’s violin playing

A Lifetime Together by LondonSpirit 🔒 8.8k

“John and Sherlock falling in love.”

The Man in Aisle Ten by standbygo 🔒 1.3k words

“It's Christmas Eve, the busiest day for shopping at Harrod's, and there's a guy in aisle ten who's snapping at every sales associate who dares to approach him. It's up to Moira to help him find the perfect present.”

notes: I love seeing Sherlock through other people’s perspectives, and I can sympathize with holiday retail

Things That You Can’t Say Tomorrow Day by PsychGirl 4k words

“Things go horribly wrong while John and Sherlock are on a mission for Mycroft. Now they're out in the woods in the middle of winter with no coats and no shelter. However will they stay warm?”

notes: post-mary, no baby mention, getting together while sharing body heat

Easy by stopthat 2.8k words

“Something, it seems, has broken down between them. Something good.”

notes: asexual sherlock

Your Love by stopthat 1.5k

“Sherlock breathes in the scent of roses, feels the wind on his skin, tastes John on his tongue.”

notes: John calls Sherlock “love” by accident

The 12 Truths of Christmas by Breath4Soul 3.3k

“It’s a simple construct, John. There is nothing I value more than data. Facts, John.” Sherlock flourishes a long, thin hand, then steeples his fingers together over his lap. He scans John with steel blue eyes. “In place of some appalling or imbecilic gift inflicted upon me in the name of tradition on Christmas day, I propose that you provide me with one previously unknown fact about you for each day leading up to Christmas.12 in total, John.”

Nightfall by CKLizzy 8k words gen (part one of the amazing Solace Series)

“Awoken by nightmares, John and Sherlock seek each other's company at night. They find more than either of them knew they were missing.”

Loss of the Senses by goddess_of_the_ night 18.5k words

or "Five Times Sherlock Lost his Senses and One Time He Used Them All to Worship John"

Over the course of two years, Sherlock loses each of his five senses: Taste, Smell, Touch, Sound, and Sight. John is a saint who takes care of him despite Sherlock's insistence to push him away.

notes: can be read as gen if you stop before the last chapter

[seeingteacupsindragons]

YUUMORI REMAINS SPOILERS

I'm really liking the focus on Patterson and William's relationship. We see so little of this.

Amazed at how much trust Patterson has that William would of course have told him whatever he's planning and since he didn't know, this can't be part of The Plan. God, William and his crew are So Much.

Patterson: Oh no what if they're targeting William???

No wonder he gets along with Moran

Patterson is massively overthinking all of this.

Patterson doesn't even use an honorific for Mycroft; this is clearly solely reserved for the brothers.

Patterson is basically giving us a rundown of where in the series this happens with massive exposition that I personally don't need and am curious about because YuuMori tends not to be heavy on reminding you of stuff.

Again, massively overthinking this. Poor William has his crew trained way too well.

William is so incredibly protective of kids. He's protective of people in general, always has been, and he's always been kind to younger kids than him even as a kid, but I wonder if any part of it is because of him actually killing a kid (as a kid). Or maybe that's part of why he hates himself so much. IDK. Overthinking this myself.

Anyway, I'm fascinated by this insight into a missing period of the manga where they're all worried about William being assassinated but he's still going shopping for gifts

Right handed

William's little notebook he keeps in his pocket is honestly so in character. He just carries that around. Loser.

(I do the same thing)

William why can I see outlines of your toes in your socks what is wrong with your socks and/or feet.

William's like "I'm going to tell this young child a bunch of people want to murder her." WILLIAM WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT

William: I mean I COULD handle the criminals myself but that would be suspicious as fuck with witnesses so let's not do that

This is such a long chapter

And yet it's still not over.

[countfagulaa]

Has anyone got any headcanons for modern day Granada Holmes and Watson?

I am bored so here are some of mine from the top of my head:

- Holmes posts random pretty pictures of scenery and flowers he finds during long walks on his Instagram (the only reason he got one was to look up clients or perps and know more about them). Never interacts with anyone besides the occasional liking of a post and liking all of Mycroft and John’s posts which he sometimes, although rarely, comments on only to correct anything he might get wrong about him or a case. Holmes is all Watson ever posts about (obviously).

- Watson grows a beard. Mustaches aren’t as popular nowadays as they used to be making beards more “acceptable” so he’d probably have a neatly trimmed beard instead, which Holmes is not opposed to in the slightest.

- Holmes drives a black Cadillac. It was a gift from a wealthy past client that wanted to show his gratitude. Holmes rarely drives it when he has no case, choosing to walk and think instead, but drives like a crazy man when he does. Watson drives an old muscle car. Like a 1970s Chevy or a Mustang from 1965. Nothing too fancy or expensive but enough class to drive in. He’s had it since Med School and left it behind in storage for when he returned from the war. He refuses to ride when Holmes is at the wheel but refuses to drive in separate cars when they go out together so they take his car instead. Holmes doesn’t care too much for his own car anyway (it was a gift, after all) so he does not mind this at all.

- Holmes takes Watson out to the movies frequently. Usually drive-ins that screen old classics. The modern day equivalent of going out to watch a play. They both enjoy attending concerts as well. That includes both orchestra and band/single artist concerts. Also Holmes likes Mistki. There’s no way he wouldn’t.

- The Irregulars are still very much around to help Holmes whenever he asks for them but they communicate more via group chats on text messages. They still show up in person of course but they spam that group chat like crazy when out and about looking for whatever it is Holmes asked for. They also sneakily take photos of Holmes off guard then giggle about it later. He catches them in the act most of the time and poses before they can get away with it. Holmes absolutely bought them all phones for Christmas and you cannot convince me otherwise.

- Watson sends Holmes random selfies throughout the day when running errands. Sometimes just for fun and sometimes just to subtlety show off how good he might look on that particular day.

- Holmes never really takes many selfies but when he does it’s mirror pics of an outfit he especially likes on himself. Watson saves every single one of them. Holmes has Watson as his home screen wallpaper. He never lets him see that he does, but Watson is aware of it. He also has Holmes as his home screen wallpaper. Holmes does not notice for a while but when he does he turns into a flustered mess.

- Mycroft lags when texting because he falls asleep after not getting a response in less than ten minutes. Holmes simply spams his phone until he responds or, when he’s especially annoyed with him, calls him and sasses him into texting back. I imagine him calling and saying something like this:

Mycroft: Hello?

Holmes: Oh, you are alive!

Mycroft: What made you think I was dead??

Holmes: Well, what am I to think when you leave me on read for five hours then not notice the very fact that I’ve been messaging you continuously for another hour and a half?

Holmes: At that point, surely you must be dead.

Mycroft: *hangs up*

[discordantwords]

wip wednesday!

I was tagged by @7-percent to share some of the WIPs I'm currently working on. Thanks for the tag!

Rules: post the first few lines or the summary of as many WIPs that you care to expose to the reading public. Tag others if you are curious to see what they are working on.

Oooof, I have so many WIPs. A lot of them are little more than ideas that I've jotted down that will never see the light of day. But let me pull out a few of them.

Nothing to Celebrate (currently posting on AO3)

Here are a few lines from the next chapter, which has been slightly delayed as I (and everyone else in my house, this has been a hell of a week ::sob::) recover from Covid, but should be polished up and posted by the end of the week:

It is CCTV footage, grainy, black and white. John and Mary, weaving their way down the street. They look quite cosy, tucked up against each other. In spite of the blurry picture, Mary's dress and coat are unmistakable, as is John's moustache.

Time in a Bottle

This is the next fic in line, a very belated FTH gift for @khorazir, and should start posting once Nothing to Celebrate is wrapped up. Sherlock and John investigate a case tied to an old bottle, and might get the chance to make some wishes.

I have a big chunk of this one drafted already, but I'm playing around with the structure and trying to decide on the best starting point for the story. The timeline is going to get a little twisty and convoluted before the boys get their happy ending.

"First order of business is to find out what you've drugged me with. Though, if you're so inclined, you can save time and simply tell me." She laughed, a startled sound. "Drugged you?" He smiled tightly, set the vial aside. "Tea?" "No, thank you," she said. "Do people frequently break into your flat to drug you?" "On occasion," he said, and flashed another insincere smile. He dug his mobile out of his dressing gown pocket, thumbed out a text to Molly. "As you've just admitted to breaking into my flat, perhaps we can dispense with the pleasantries and skip to the part where you tell me what you're after."

Untitled Amnesia Fic (current working title is Strangers Forever)

This one will get written. I've been picking at it off and on for the last year or so. Set in a world where Sherlock's plane does not turn around at the end of HLV.

Sherlock is undercover doing reconnaissance work for Mycroft in the US. Thanks to what he believes was an accident, but which was actually an intentional procedure, he has no recollection of the last ten years or so of his life. John finds him and things unravel from there.

I'm so excited for this fic, but also intimidated by it, which is why I've been poking at it for so long. It's angsty turned up to 11. Intensely, painfully angsty. And I will warn upfront that there is no miraculous return of memory-- everyone involved must simply find a way to carry on.

Here's an excerpt:

There are ashtrays balanced on nearly every flat surface. He picks one up, sets it back down, surprised at his own nervousness. "I'm—" he starts, and swallows. Tries again. "I'm in the midst of a fascinating study on tobacco ash. Do you have any idea how many variations—?" "Two hundred and forty-three," John says. Sherlock swivels to look at him, delighted. "You know ash?"

And another:

"I think it might be nice to have an arch enemy," Sherlock says idly. He is feeling whimsical, and he lets a smile pull at the corner of his mouth. "I've often thought about it." John does not smile. "You had one. It wasn't nice."

Untitled Harry Wedding Fic

This is another one that I've been poking at for a while. It's meant to be two chapters. I've had the first chapter written for years, but stalled out on the second. Something just feels wrong about it. I hope to figure it out one of these days, because I quite like what's already been written.

Set sometime post S4, John bumps into Mike Stamford again. Mike lets slip that he's attending Harry's wedding that weekend… a wedding John knows nothing about. He's hurt and embarrassed and makes plans to crash the wedding. Sherlock invites himself along.

"This was supposed to be a nice day," Harry said. "Hm. Yeah. Seems perfectly nice." She turned to look at him, lips pressed into a tight white line. He stared back, but his resolve refused to hold. He just felt tired. Tired and sad and sorry. He sighed, looked down. "Harry—" "I'll have them find you a place at one of the tables," she said. Her voice was clipped. "I ought to pitch you out on your arse. But." "Two," he said. "What?" "Two places." "Sorry," she said. "Did I hear you correctly? Not only did you crash my wedding, but you brought a date?" "He's not my date," John said. He cleared his throat, looked away.

Golden Ticket

Yeah, it's a Willy Wonka AU.

"Sherlock Holmes," Mike said. "The genius behind it. Completely mad, of course, but—" "Mad. Genius. Yeah, got it," John said. He vaguely remembered hearing something about Holmes, years ago. Before Holmes Candy had blown up bigger than Cadbury, or Moriarty, or even Hershey over in the states. "Young guy, right?" Mike laughed, but there was no mockery in it. "Oh, you have been out of touch for the last few years, haven't you?" He smiled, shook his head. "Yeah, that was him. Showed up out of nowhere, no formal training, no background in the industry, completely blew the competition out of the water. Every bloody shop in London carries his stuff." "Okay," John said. Mike was right, of course. Holmes Bars, with their purple and gold packaging, were damn near ubiquitous. And he supposed the story of Holmes' out-of-nowhere success had a certain appeal, though why Mike had chosen now to bring it up was more than a bit perplexing. Mike smiled at him, an encouraging smile. John frowned, back, looked down at his cane. "Right. So what's . . . funny about him?" Mike took another sip of his coffee. "Well. He had some kind of nervous breakdown three years ago. Guess all the success went to his head. If you were overseas you might not have heard about it, but—" "Not really the sort of thing I'd have followed, overseas or not," John said, glancing past Mike towards the path once again. He wondered if it would be terribly rude to invent a forgotten appointment. "No, trust me, you'd have noticed," Mike said. "It was bizarre. He put out a string of limited edition candies—I mean—there were these lollies, right? Where each flavor represented a different level of decay—" "What?" John looked away from the path, back at Mike. Mike nodded. "Yeah. Not joking. And if I remember our anatomy classes correctly—and mate, you know as well as I do that's not something I'm likely to forget—he absolutely nailed it." "Why would anyone—?" "They were puzzles, you know? You were supposed to work out by the colour and taste how long the victim had been dead and where they'd been found. There were a few different ones, and eventually all these websites set up where people speculated over it and eventually solved the mystery of what each one was supposed to be." John blinked. "Man buried in shallow ground for a week. Woman floating in salt water for three days. Man in deep freezer for—" "Yeah, all right, I get it," John said. Then he shook his head. "No. I don't get it. He . . . flavored his candy with corpses?" "No, he flavored his candy like corpses. Caused quite a stir! But it was genius, really. A bit mad, but—" "Mad genius. Yeah. So you've said." "Anyway, around the same time that was going on, he started to get paranoid. It was in all the papers. Lots of speculation about drugs. He went on these public tirades about spies in his factory, stealing his recipes. Said Moriarty was out to ruin him." "Sounds like he did a right job of that on his own," John said. Corpse-flavoured candy. Honestly. "Well, he disappeared. Shut down his factory, just like that. Sacked all his staff. Cancelled all of his pending orders" "Shame," John said flatly. "But," Mike said, his eyes lighting up. "Five days ago, the factory started up again. Candy started shipping out worldwide. No one knows how. Or why."

I'll tag @thetimemoves @saki101 @algyswinburne and anyone else who sees this, if you'd like to share some of what you've been working on, consider yourself tagged!

[starkraivennemad]

Gestures

It had been – in a word – a day. Two domestics and burglary that went very wrong. Sherlock had been – Sherlock. Greg’s C.I.D. was on a tear. Mycroft and even Anthea had been unreachable all afternoon. It was not exactly unusual, but it did not help his mood. The only good thing about the day was that it was Friday, and he would be leaving soon.

Greg nearly cursed, seeing C.I.D. Ahlers swiftly approaching his office, already knowing his plans to go home were as fubar-ed as the rest of the day had been. He rolled his eyes and sighed. “Sir…?”

“Something doing at Hatfield House. You’re being directly asked for. Come with me, hurry. Helipad.”

“Who asked for me?” Greg immediately rose then stopped. “Sir, did you say helipad?”

“It’s rush hour. Don’t look a gift horse – Lestrade. Don’t know the details. Just that it’s big and someone who apparently knows your name. So yes, helipad. Move it.”

Greg just managed to suppress his annoyed groan as he followed his boss. The man was correct, at that time of day he would be at Kenwood in mere minutes compared to nearly an hour in traffic.  

It was not the first time Greg had been in an NPAS helicopter, but it was rare that something was deemed so important that NSY allowed use of the helipad just for his transport. He sent off a quick text to Anthea and Mycroft that he was called on a case and would be late coming home. He was chagrinned at the lack of respond from either, but it had been that kind of day.

He barely paid attention to the required instructions as he boarded, the flight captain and co-pilot already on board and beyond grateful that that his C.I.D. was not coming with them. As the helicopter lifted off, the vista that is London at night spread out before him.  It was the tail end of sunset, and the city was lit for the evening. Greg rarely gets to see it from this viewpoint live.

“Such a beautiful view. Does it get old for you?” Greg doubted it but had to ask.

“Never.” The pilot confirmed. The co-pilot shook his head in agreement.

Greg sighed, a part of him wishing Mycroft were there to share the view with him. It would make a great treat on a date night. Greg made a mental note to suggest it, because Mycroft would not think of such a thing.

Having seen the relationship between Sherlock and John, Greg Lestrade understood loving a Holmes brother, particularly Mycroft, was not going to be an easy thing. Mycroft does not mean to somewhat reserved – neither brother can help themselves, that cool detachment is part and parcel of who they are �� but Mycroft just is not one for grand romantic gestures.

He knows the man he is in love with. He knows Mycroft loves him deeply. Quite deeply. It took weeks to stop being blushing in front of their household chief of staff when he realized they had been seen in flagrante delicto in foyer because they just had to have each other then and there. Like all good staff, they have learned the talent to not see a thing between Greg and Mycroft when necessary. And Greg is quite happy to say, when necessary, happens often enough for two middle aged men – thank you very much. 

Thus, the onus to provide silly romantic things for them mostly fell to Greg. Greg does not mind. Mycroft, like Sherlock slowly had with John, is learning. It’s wonderful to see and feel as Mycroft gets better in how he demonstrates his love in little gestures.

Still, there are times Greg wished for some insane grand gesture - like a sunset helicopter ride for a date night.

Greg squinted as the pilot announced their approach. He only seen photos of the historical country house and its grounds, but he did not recall ever seeing pictures of the grounds near the place being lit as he was seeing.

“Was some event happening on the grounds? It looks like there are a thousand candles--.” Greg started to ask but stopped as they got closer, and he could better see.

The courtyard of the structure was a blaze with light on the ground.

“No….” Greg looked to the pilot. Surely, he was seeing things.

“Yep.” The pilot grinned as Greg’s stunned face. “Circling around so you can see it again before we land below the South Garden and…”

Greg did not hear another word the man said, his attention focused on the lights on ground as the helicopter circled. Logic told Greg it was artificial, real candles would have never lasted in the windy evening. Still, logic could not ruin the beautiful effect of only goodness knew how many candles were needed to spell out a message – well – ask a question to be precise.

Marry me, Gregory?

There was no mistaking the figure surrounded by a circle of candles that knelt on bended knee in place of the dot of the question mark.

Greg was breathless and giddy with joy.

The helicopter landed on the lawn of the South Gardens. It had barely touched ground when Greg was removing his headphones. He instinctively ducked under the whirling blades and ran for all his worth towards the open gate. The light on the other side of the garden drawing him like moth to flame.

“Oh, you bastard!”

A grinning Greg did not stop until he all but toppled Mycroft who braced for the impact and ensuing kiss.

He had wished for a grand romantic gesture, and Universe answered, there was no arguing this was the grandest and best.

“I take it that is a, yes?” Mycroft grinned when Greg finally pulled away.

“Yes, I’ll marry you!”

@flashfictionfridayofficial​!!

[junibyrd]

Just finished the first season sooooo here are my top 3 episodes and a rundown:

1. The resident patient:

That nightmare sequence was lit

Holmes stimming and being so fixed on recalling the concerto correctly- it's literally me��

✨️"VIVidly"✨️ ahh he's so happy in violin land, honestly best times

them walking home arm-in-arm, John humming the melody (very nicely), deducing the facts together about the cab and the musical conclusion with the change of scene THIS IS ART!!!

Dr. Trevelyan you had no business looking this good in rags😶

Aaand he's down on the ground with the measuring tape

Love the convo at the stairs, they're in this together and listen to what the other wants to say

Watson and his miniature ship (that he'll gift to Holmes😭) also love the blanket

That whistle was iconic

The silent scene, the police being ok with it, Watson immidiately helping with the evidence

Holmes being the first in getting Blessington down (I found it very unusual and touching)

It's in the only unopened drawer omg😂😂😂

Mrs. Hudson- never in all the history of the series existed a more horrifying scream (not even from an actual victim)

Teatime in the murder room so fab

John has food, John is happy

Jeremy has some great violin-playing imitation going on

Watson being visibly sorry for telling Holmes to shut up awwww

The ending with the new title being born😭😭😭 the grunts and heureka moment from Holmes' room, Watson underlinening the title to the rythym of the music PURE GENIUS!

2. The dancing men:

The betting game

Watson's checkbook is guarded by Holmes

"PHAAA", "friend Watson", "really Holmes?" and the FACE with it, "My dear fellow 📕" LOVE THEEEEM

"then I will help you with all my heart" ahh what this is so sweet Hoooolmes

"and don't worry!" Watson is a treasure honestly

STEALING THE MONOGRAPH😂

"if this is E *pose*"

Holmes jumping out of the couch

oh shit oh shit the last message, oh shit oh shit the telegram, oh shit oh shit my client is dead

Watson giving social norm advices in whisper since 1898

the inspection ballet

"WE were very fortunate, likely to US" OK Mr. Spotlight Stealer

Watson easing Abe about not seeing Elsie🏆

"onc🤨...😏once"

the music in the ending ahhh i always have tears in my eyes for some stupid reason

3. The speckled band:

The prologue has -get out if my swamp- energy and I stand by that!

good lord that monkey is faaaat

my first idea was this: that whistle sounds like a monkey- a gibbon to be precise- I was, as usual, wrong😂

"it seems to be the common lot this morning"😩🙄

Holmes is so considerate also working for free if necessary

proud bf energy when India mentioned

*inserts the full Holmes and Roylott conversation bc it's PERFECT!*

"just another client"☺️

aww toothbrush how romantic, ahh the train scene how romantic

"no, we're architects" *Holmes trying to conceal his laughter*

"we shall be here!"🥹 -We protect, we attack and most importantly, we kill ur stepdad!

Watson again trying with every fiber of his beeing🥺

"excuse me, while I satisfy myself as to this floor" you do you babe😌

*Trying to offer tea*- Watson: Don't bother my bf while working

My dear John is sooo relieved i really felt that "oh good"😂

"Be brave" ahhhh yes if u say so i will be everything and anything

*inserts the shell-house convo then weeps* love them

Helen is indeed brave and very good at playing her part👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

He let Watson sleep😭

"this is a nice household" love the humor of Holmes🤣

Honourable mentions:

The Norwood builder - interesting story, really nice co-working with Mr. Moralsupport Watson, challenge 4 Holmes, FIREEE

The greek interpreter - Mycroft, great mystery, the train scene

The crooked man - nice case, really good acting, running for footprints

And did literally kick my freaking feet on many occasions

Granada Holmes has me positively KICKING my feet what do you MEAN Holmes and Watson are goofballs. What do you MEAN they’re actually friends. I’m absolutely delighted with them they mean the world to me <333

[amyreadsandstresses]

EVEN MORE OF AMY'S DAILY FIC RECS

A too long list for the avid BBC Sherlock fic reader

*Friday - oohmo

12k, 5/5, Johnlock, Rosamund Mary Watson, Parentlock

On a beautiful Friday morning, Sherlock takes Rosamund Watson to school. However, young Rosie has been keeping a secret from him and John. The secret is soon discovered by a phone call, which requires Sherlock and John to come to the rescue for their little girl.

*Take Me Dancing (Again) - aquileaofthelonelymountain

11k, 1/1, Johnlock, Rosamund Mary Watson, Parentlock, Angst, H/C

“Sherlock”, Greg began. The grin faded from the detective’s face from one moment to the next; he was at once aware that something was wrong. “I’m here because … I have to tell you something.” Sherlock turned to face Greg. His posture was bolt upright, his hands were balled into fists at his side. He looked like he expected to be punched, and Greg wondered how much he had already deduced from the little he had said. “There has been a robbery”, Greg began as gently as he could. “John was injured. He’s in hospital.”

*Sex Ed on the Fly - ShirleyCarton

2k, 1/1, Johnlock, Parentlock, Not inapropiate

When John’s five-year-old daughter walks in on them and asks them what they’re doing, John is mortified to the depth of his bones. Sherlock, however, calmly decides to answer her honestly – to John’s absolute astonishment. But within ten minutes, his lover has enlightened Chloe more than could be said about any sex ed he’d ever had, in a way that puts her mind at ease and gives her a basic but important understanding of what love is all about.

*A Waste of Breath - Chryse

Reread, 95k, 25/25, DubCon, Angst, Johnlock, Sebastian Moran, Hurt/Comfort, TW APPLY

John had always assumed Sherlock was uninterested, untouchable, married to his work. He was wrong on all counts. But when Sherlock embarks on a relationship, John worries that he is in over his head...and this time he might be right.

*Longing - belovedmuerto

3k, 1/1, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Pinning

Sherlock Holmes longs.

*An Unexpected Coupling - fantasybean

5k, 1/1, Johnlock, Greg Lestarde, Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft Holmes, Harry Watson, Molly Hooper, Established Relationship

The many times the people around Sherlock and John found out they were married. From getting caught in the act to intoxicated rambling, it's a sweet tale of discovery and amusement!

*for all that bitter delights will sour - darcylindbergh

Reread, 9k, 1/1, Abusive John, Unhealthy Relationship, ANGST, Consent Issues, Miscommunication

“I’m not gay,” John said into the darkness.    Sherlock rolled over, facing away from him. The skin of his cleft slid uncomfortably against itself as he moved, the lubricant becoming tacky as it began to dry. He re-adjusted the pillow under his head. “I know.” 

*I meant to say always - OnceSherlock

8k, 1/1, Johnlock, Fake Marriage, Rosamund Mary Watson, Fluff, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Parentlock

“It means that you can make a wish,” he said to Rosie. She looked at him with wide eyes. “And what can I wish for?” “Anything you want. And if you truly believe in it, it will come true.” “Then I know how to use my wish,” Rosie said, looking from John to Sherlock and back with a grin. Sherlock’s brows furrowed and for a moment John felt like he was missing something of importance. Rosie closed her eyes, her lips moving slightly as she uttered her wish. She opened them again as John leaned closer to her. “What did you wish for, love?” Rosie made sure that Sherlock was listening before whispering into John’s ear. “I wished for you and Papa to be married.”

*A Proper Gift - hungryforpowernotfood

1k, 1/1, Reread, Autistic Sherlock, John Watson, Gift Giving

Sherlock sees a rock that reminds him of John and gives it to him.

*The Dilemma of the Watson Bedroom - jemariel

7k, 1/1, Parentlock, Johnlock, Domestic Fluff

Sherlock hates the name Rosamund. John wanted to call her Katherine. Sherlock thinks it suits her. Meanwhile, he and John are orbiting ever closer together. Sherlock tries not to wonder how long he will have them here, all three of them together in 221B. 

*Spectral Evidence - earlgreytea68

4k, 1/1, Johnlock, Mike Stamford, Halloween

It's 1692 in Salem, Massachusetts, and it kind of makes sense the townspeople think Sherlock Holmes is a witch.

*Love is the Rhythm - eyeus

4k, 1/1, Magical Realism, Johnlock, Mycroft Holmes

Love is a dangerous disadvantage for the Holmes family, immortals until they’ve given their heart to someone else. Nevertheless, it’s not like Sherlock planned to lose his to John.

*Agitate - snozzingsnuffles

9k, 1/1, Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Mycroft Holmes, Autistic Sherlock

Pushed beyond his limits by his workload, Sherlock suffers a meltdown. John learns a lot about his friend.

*Everyone Needs a Place - PixChuu22

Reread, 32k, 14/14, Disability, Drug Addiction, Johnlock, ANGST, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD Sherlock, Past R/NC, Injury Recovery, Prostitution, Happy Ending

Sherlock Holmes walks back into Dr. John Watson's life two years after his 'death' wearing a tuxedo and a smile and missing half of his left hand. As always, John is drawn back into Sherlock's orbit and finds himself trying to heal someone with physical, emotional, and psychological scars... often to the detriment of himself.

*Climbing into Chairs - paceprompting

10k, 6/6, Johnlock, Rosamund Mary Watson, Parentlock, PTSD, Domestic Fluff

When John returned to Baker Street, this time with his daughter, he didn't expect Sherlock to fall so easily into the role of co-parent. He forgot that Sherlock, stubborn as he is, is quite adaptable. He let John in once before. And as John watches his daughter fall in love with Sherlock more every day, he realizes, fuck, he is too.

*Without A Word - Salambo06

26k, 9/9, Johnlock, First Time, First Kiss, Fluff

After being punched in the face, Sherlock has his jaw wired shut. Unable to speak anymore, they have to learn how to communicate with each other in other ways.

*A Brief Account of Life with Zombies - silverpard

2k, 1/1, Humor, Crack, Zombies, Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Greg Lestrade, Epistolary

Sherlock thinks it's all a bit of a nuisance, John is having the time of his life, and Mycroft is Not Impressed. With anything, but mostly his minions' inability to provide a good cup of tea.

*How It All Started - round_robin

4k, 1/1, Johnlock, Civil Partnership, Greg Lestrade, First Time

The story of how John and Sherlock ended up in a relationship. By accident.

*Beneath His Skin - cathedral_carver

1k, 1/1, Sherlock Holmes, Drug Addiction, John Watson, Mycroft Holmes, Angst

He can only fight a craving like this for so long.

*Sense of Innocence - tenderly_wicked

4k, 1/1, Johnlock, First Time, Not ideal BDSM, Hurt/Comfort

A violent row evolves into angry sex, and Sherlock – the one who’s been pinned down to his bed and thoroughly dealt with – is more than happy with this turn of events. But it seems that John isn’t.

*Ginger - cellardoors

2k, 1/1, Humor, Hair Dye, Johnlock

Sherlock. John. Hair Dye. Gingers.

*To be Loved by You - TwisterMelody

28k, 1/1, Johnlock, Baby Watson, Mary Morstan, Mycroft Holmes, Greg Lestrade, Pinning, Hurt/Comfort, GORGEOUS FIC

Too many times they had confessed themselves in the darkness, leaving it there, never to speak of it again. But this is different. This love deserves the light of day.

*Reassurance - Johnlocked (Krullenbol2602)

1k, 1/1, Johnlocked, Post Riechenbach, First Kiss

Sherlock, after coming back, takes John's pulse at random intervals. This is the story how John figured out why.

*A Case of Mistaken Identity - scribblesinbyline

5k, 2/2, Johnlock, Smut, Roleplay

“Hang on. You can’t seriously be trying to turn us away because we’re together.”

*Thriteen and awake - microcanonical

3k, 1/1, Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes, Mummy Holmes, Bipolar Sherlock, Angst

"In your household, you are a source of worry. You are Too Much To Handle. You are not actually on drugs (yet), merely somewhat sleepless, and as a result alternatively hyperactive and dazed. But one side effect of not being able to sleep is that the hours in a day will double. And these hours must be filled. Last night, you studied anatomy, and you thought briefly that you could be a surgeon. The human body, you thought, is marvelous-- all that fine tuned machinery, and yet that relative sturdiness, that resilience. You learned the bones of your hands and feet yesterday, and they were so beautifully assembled, scaphoid-lunate-pisiform--"

[jrow]

May Prompts (30)

Day 29 here. Start from the beginning here. Day 31 here.

Journey

He looks up the stairs and thinks about the journey that brought him here.

He was always going to end up back at 221b, wasn’t he?

Something Sherlock said yesterday has stuck with him. I wasn’t even in the story until you came along.

And maybe that’s true for the both of them. Maybe the story—the journey—didn’t begin until he climbed these 17 steps for the first time.

No, that’s not quite right. Maybe it began when Mike spotted him in Russel Square.

Maybe it doesn’t really matter when it began at all. Maybe all that matters is that this is where it continues.

He used to see his life in black and white. Right and wrong. Triumphs and regrets. It was a foolish and simplistic way of viewing the world. He finally understands that he is allowed to feel many things at once. He is allowed to remember those early days with Sherlock fondly while still recognizing the period as one where his demons were left to fester and grow. He is allowed to wish Sherlock hadn’t jumped while still recognizing Rosie as a gift and someone he could never live without. He is allowed to feel sorrow that Mary died while simultaneously feeling incredible joy that he has a future with Sherlock.

To ignore the good is to ignore the bad and vice versa. It’s all a part of his story.

He looks down at the box he’s carrying. It’s filled with a random documents and mementos that he didn’t trust to the movers that Mycroft booked (who are all dressed in suits and look suspiciously like agents that must have far better things to be doing). Some of the contents are from this story—Rosie’s birth certificate, his wedding album, newspaper clippings of early cases with Sherlock—but others are from another life. His mother’s favourite necklace, that friendship bracelet Harry gave him when he was 8, his army ID discs and medals.

Rosie bounds into the doorway at the top of stairs. Her face is covered in jam and he can see a glob in her hair. Definitely a bath night. “Coming Daddy?” she asks, but doesn’t wait for answer before disappearing back into the flat. Their flat.

“John?” he hears Sherlock yell. “Errr, there may have been an incident with your toaster. It looks worse than it is.”

Maybe this isn’t the continuation of a story at all. Maybe it’s the start of a new one.

“I’m coming, loves,” he says quietly, even though he knows they can’t hear him.

He takes the first step.

@keirgreeneyes @raina-at @totallysilvergirl @meetinginsamarra @jolieblack @phoenix27884 @friday411 @calaisreno @lisbeth-kk @safedistancefrombeingsmart @momma2boys @helloliriels @dapetty @quimerasyutopias

[talkativeanxiousturtle]

I can picture Greg seeing them, laughing his ass off (because of course John told him about it), and sending a picture to Mycroft.

Greg: Found a wedding gift.

Mycroft: Those aren't graduated. Sherlock will hate them.

Greg: Even better.

When they get them in the afterparty, Sherlock looks at them for a long time, deciding how to react. He eyes Greg, and his brother, and notices that smug smile, and melts into a kind one.

Sherlock: They're perfect, Greg. I'll have someone wash them right away, so we can test them together.

John chuckles approvingly, and Greg is just so happy he got his damn name right, and he likes them, and Mycroft was wrong, for once, actually... And before anyone knows it, Greg is giving him a bear hug, and congratulating him yet again for the wedding, and Sherlock is just looking at Mycroft over Greg's shoulder, and Mycroft is boiling, because he KNOWS what Sherlock just did, and Sherlock is having the time of his life.

Three weeks later, they're gone from the honeymoon turned crime investigation (because of course it did), and John finds his husband and the table, very focused as he uses a ruler, a graduated cylinder, water and a thin permanent pen to draw little lines along the purple one, the blue having already been done.

John: Sherlock, they're test tubes! They don't even need to be graduated.

Sherlock: Perhaps if you're an amateur, John. But what's even the point if you can't tell exactly how much someone had to drink?

John: They're shooters! They're meant to be had in one shot! So you can tell, since each one is 39 ml.

Sherlock: And isn't that strange? Why not round it up to 40? Who made these?! And from where, the very top? That's a recipe for a drunken idiot spilling it!

John: ... You know what, this conversation is futile. Write down whatever you want, except on the green one, I'm calling that.

He pats him on the back, kisses the top of his head, and leaves him to it.

... Anyone else thought of the same thing I did?

[butterysalt]

Fun | Sherlock x platonic!Reader

Pairing: Sherlock x platonic!gender neutral reader

Request ( @a-paper-cut​ ): 

Word Count: 2,202

Contains: Mentions of child abduction, platonic fluffiness and banter :)

A/N: AAAAAAA thank you so much, lovely! This was my first request and I was SUPER excited to write it hehe. I’ve been on a slight creative block lately and I enjoyed writing this so much. I hope this fic does justice for what you wanted and I hope that you are doing amazingly 🧡🧡

It was an early, snowy winter morning in London. You and Sherlock Holmes have been mind-boggled by a puzzling case for the past week. The detective proposed that the two of you go on a walk to allow some fresh air in the brains again. This suggested that even his extensive mind palace and composing weren’t helping the genius. Not that you were complaining about sharing a nice stroll with Sherlock. It had been years after all since you two had spent any casual time together. Like what people normally did in their free time, anyway.

The two of you stepped side by side, feet planting in the thin sheet of snow on the ground in unison. You grinned a little at the matched body language. You and Sherlock always had special ways to subtly communicate with one another. It was like a part of your minds were connected.

“Anything yet?” the tall brunette questioned. Your lip twitched upward. “Don’t rush the process, Sherlock. Just enjoy the moment. Live in it a little.” Sherlock’s long drawl could be heard next to you. His walking strides were growing longer as his patience began to thin out. You could practically hear the subtle gnawing of his teeth.

“We’ve only been walking 5 minutes,” you flouted, “Loosen up a bit.” Sherlock snickered to himself, messing with his gloved hands. “You’re already trying to read me?”

“You’re walking like you’ve got a stick up your arse. It’s clear you’re agitated,” you jested. The curly-haired detective sneered at you and kicked a clump of ice out of the way. “I can’t think, Y/n. We have potential homicide to solve and we’re here drudging in the snow.”

“Remember, this was your idea, genius. Unless you can come up with something else, this is all we’ve got.” Sherlock went silent, chewing the inside of his cheek. His mind wandered to try and come up with something snarky to throw at you. Perhaps a witty comeback that would leave you in doubt. The headache he was dealing with was enough to strike him in his train of thought. He shook it off and his focus returned to the matter of urgency. Unsolved case.

Sherlock lifted his face to the sky, blowing a hot cloud of breath into the chilly London air. He tugged his scarf a little closer to his neck, shoving his gloved hands down into his thick coat. The breath cloud was a common habit of Sherlock’s during cold weather. It mimicked the effect of blowing cigarette smoke, just without the tar and nicotine. Fortunately, the only time the detective abused drugs anymore was when cases had him horribly stumped; thanks to you and John’s efforts, his drug use was much more controlled now.

“Five missing children. All between the ages of 7 and 9. We know that the connection is tied to their private schools. Three different religious private schools within a 10 kilometer radius — so, fairly close together. The parents reported their children coming home with expensive gifts from a mysterious donor shortly before they went missing. They referred to the perpetrator as ‘Ray’. Anyone handing out shiny trinkets to naive children is either a philanthropist or a predator. I’d like to bet on the latter.”

You sighed, mentally reviewing all of the evidence from the case in your head. “But all of the children knew basic safety protocols: don’t talk to strangers, never accept anything from strangers, the whole package. Their parents are terribly traditional. They never would have let any of them see the light if they broke any of those rules. So the chances are near impossible that they would have fallen for such typical child abduction tricks.”

“Near impossible, L/n. That means there’s still a possibility and possible is all we need to screw this up,” Sherlock tutted. He blew another large cloud of air, shaking some light snow off his curls. You frowned, “The suspects. We’ve interrogated the popes, teachers, parents… who are we missing?”

Sherlock stopped walking. You turned to check up on him, finding him with his eyes shut. “Maybe we’re asking the wrong questions…”

“Of course we’re asking the wrong questions! We have all the pieces in our hands but no instructions, Sherlock. We’re running in circles with this case,” you walked over to a public railing, leaning against it and looking out across the long white blanket that stretched to the horizon.

He joined your side shortly after, bending down to pick up some rocks to toss down the snowy hill and watch as they made skinny trails in the frosty powder. Sherlock sighed out, exasperated and worn out. “We’re not getting anywhere by mulling over it, are we?”

You smiled at him and shook your head. You pulled your coat a little tighter around yourself. “That’s why I’m here to keep you in check. It’s good to get some air, you know? Christ knows when’s the last time you did that simply because you wanted to.”

Sherlock’s eyebrow perked up and he faced you with a blank expression. “How do you mean?” Your eyes widened a little, unsure of how you should pick out your next words. “Well… you know, you don’t exactly, uh…” Nervously, your eyes flicked up to his. He was watching your expression very carefully.

“You don’t spend a lot of time for yourself,” you said simply. Sherlock frowned in disagreement. “I spend a lot of time by myself. I thought you knew me better than that,” he teased.

You rolled your eyes, leaning your back against the cold railing now, crossing your arms. “In your mind palace, Sherlock. I mean you don’t do things you enjoy.”

“Who said I don’t enjoy things?” he countered your query. You found yourself forming a cold sweat, debating on how to deliver your message. “Hobbies?”

“Violin.”

“Meh. Parties?”

“You disturb me.” Your best friend’s disgust made you cackle. “See, that’s my point! You don’t know how to have fun anymore. What happened to old Sherlock?”

Now this was a personal offense against Sherlock. “What? You don’t think I’m fun?” Sherlock sounded incredibly appalled by your claim. A hot cloud of air rose to the sky when you scoffed.

“Holmes, you are probably the farthest thing when it comes to the definition of fun!”

“Well, probability-wise, that’s highly improbable when Mycroft exists.”

“His poshness makes up for it. You’re just irritating.” Sherlock puffed out his red cheeks, nudging you playfully. “Oh, come on. You must admit that I’m at least an interesting character?”

You pondered in fake thought, scrunching your face together. “Interesting is debatable. Fun? That’s foreign territory, Sherlock.” The tall man grimaced deeply at your bluntness that he clearly had issues with. “What do you mean by ‘Old Sherlock’? What was good about the ‘old me’? I consider myself much more refined in the present day.”

Old memories of the two of you hanging out with one another as teenagers came back to you. A smile melted on your face from the warm feelings of nostalgia, the chilliness from the snowfall leaving your body.

“You used to prank Mycroft all the time. Everything was always a competition with you and me; we would go from racing down the neighborhood to reach my house first or rush to finish homework and claim the telly before the other could. Oh! We would always make up fake cases, too, trying to entertain a mystery that didn’t even exist,” you laughed to yourself, “Look at us now.”

Sherlock grumbled at the reminder of your old shenanigans. He wasn’t always the fondest of his younger self. But he had to admit he was reckless, even as a child. It was a simpler time and kids didn’t have much to fret or fear.

“Now you’re all enigmatic and stoic with your flipped up coat collar and scary cheekbones. The difference is so disappointing, it’s sickening,” you gagged. Sherlock slipped off his glove and jabbed his freezing hand against your neck, making you exclaim at the coldness and shove him backward. He wore a victorious smirk at your suffering. You pointed a hard finger at him, holding back your own laughter to prove a point.

“NO, that’s not being fun, Sherlock. That’s torture- sadism! You’re just an arse!” He threw his arms in the air, tossing his glove in your face. “It’s subjective! I can be fun,” he insisted.

“You’re predictable, Holmes. You don’t remember what good humor is and it shows in your actions. You pick everything up from books and telly. You can’t surprise me anymore,” you declared. Sherlock’s expression contorted into shock as he stared at you in disbelief. You had left the great Sherlock Holmes baffled. The silence was deafening — music to your ears.

When you thought you were winning this argument, a special glint quickly shone in Sherlock’s eyes. Your expression dropped and then you were pushed backward. There was no railing behind you anymore to catch you.

As you were falling, you naturally grasped for something to hold on to. In this case, Sherlock’s coat. The evil smirk on his face was immediately replaced with shock then fear as he was crashing hard into you. Gravity did the rest of the work. With the momentum you had already begun, dragging Sherlock down with you was one of the worst possible outcomes of the situation. A crude curse slipped past his lips and both of you latched onto each other because there was nothing else to brace with.

What was initially meant to be a playful fall down the snowy hill turned into a rolling battle full of frantic thrashing and screaming as both of your bodies thumped and tangled with each other. The two of you occasionally bounced a few inches off the ground and crashed back into the ground, knocking the breath out of both of you. The wild human avalanche down the hill was finally put to a stop when you rolled into a tree. With a loud OOMPH, you and Sherlock flopped into the ground, groaning and croaking in pain. Neither of you moved for the first passing moments, unable to process what just happened.

Your fall was broken when you landed on top of Sherlock, his body sprawled out in the cold snow, rasping heavily. Some snow fell off your form and your arms shook as you propped yourself up, no longer caring about the fact that you applied all the pressure in your friend’s ribs.

“You alright, mate?” you panted, checking up on Sherlock, eyes analyzing him for any serious injuries.

“You take my breath away.” You sputtered and shook your head at his ridiculous humor. “Aren’t you just romantic?” He squinted his eyes and flashed a sarcastic smile but groaned out, “No, really. Please get off my chest.”

“Oh God, sorry,” you scrambled off of him and he rolled over into the snow, gasping for air as he clutched his side in pain. You punched him in the shoulder. “You bloody twat, Sherlock Holmes! Pushing me down a hill by Jove’s sake!”

“I remember it being much more fun when we were younger,” he grunted out, pushing himself onto his forearms. And just then, his eyes burst wide open. His face slack-jawed as his brain computed at top speed. He was onto something.

“Sherlo-”

“FUN, Y/n,” he articulated, scrambling over to you and grabbing you by the shoulders. You stiffened and backed away, startled by his abrupt realization. 

“Oh, Y/n, you are brilliant! This is why we work together!”

“What?! What are you-”

“The kids were abducted because they were having fun! ‘Ray’ is Remus Stooge, another private school kid in the area. The Stooge family owns several of the land plots around this corner of London and they’re the ones funding all three schools — The Stooge’s are plenty wealthy. The children were going to Remus’s home, ditching class time to get a personal house tour of his daddy’s money. The fancy car rides, luxurious delights, shiny sneakers and tailored clothing… Who wouldn’t pass up on an opportunity like that? It only makes sense why they were lured in so easily! Their rich best pal Remus has been the one inviting them right into the trap!”

“What- Sherlock! Where is this all coming from?! How do you even-”

“Trust me, Y/n!! I have it figured out- It all makes sense!” he interjected again. The look on your faces was bizarre. You tossed a handful of snow at him as he blocked it with his hands. “NO?? It doesn’t! This is so sudden-”

Sherlock was on his feet in an instant, brushing off the powder from his coat and yanking you up. His eyes were gleaming with excitement. “We have to go tell Lestrade, now! Call John and get over to the Stooge’s place!”

“To arrest the kid?!”

“No, the butler!” He grabbed your gloved hand and dragged you up the steep white hill. You shook your head wildly, “Holmes, you better have a bloody good explanation for this in the cab or there will be hell to pay.” Sherlock smirked triumphantly and squeezed your hand.

“Come, L/n! The game is on!”

Requests are open! <3

[mycrofts-gunbrella]

Caring is the Greatest Advantage- Mycroft Holmes x Reader (Part 11)

A/N- Okay so this is just a short 2k fill in chapter! It’s kinda cute and kinda sad but it was too long to add to the last chapter, and it doesn’t fit in with the theme of the next chapter (though it sets it up quite nicely!). The next chapter is likely going to be a bit angsty but I promise it’ll have a rewarding ending to it! I hope to have it written and up sooner rather than later but, until then, enjoy this little piece.

Word Count- 2028

The ten minute drive from Baker Street to the Natural History Museum went by in a flash- most of it being spent by Mycroft giving you a mental tour of the building's various rooms and the 'most appropriate route to take'. Though it did also take a minute or two for you to convince him to not get everybody kicked out for a private visit, no matter how many people were there.. Admittedly, you hadn't been to the museum for 6 years or so now- after living so long in London it feels less of a luxury being only round the corner from it- but walking through the doors made you feel like a child again. Entry to the museum was free, but that didn't mean you didn't see Mycroft swiftly pushing a few notes into the donation bin at the front before guiding you forwards. Glancing up, you eyed the blue whale skeleton that hung from the ceiling and frowned. Mycroft caught your look and spoke up.

"Ah yes, Hope has been a relatively recent addition to the museum. She was found dead on an Irish beach back in 1891. It's a rather beautiful marvel to gaze upon, though, large as she is, she doesn't quite fill the hole in my heart that was left after my beloved Dippy was removed." Your eyes scanned the skeleton of the large mammal once more before looking back at Mycroft. "I did try to convince the board to keep the diplodocus somewhere but all attempts were futile. There's only so much force you can put into such a topic without exposing yourself as-"

"As a man who loves dinosaur bones more than he loves people?" Mycroft shoved his hands in his pockets and sighed.

"The very thing." Lifting your arm, you rested your hand at the crook of Mycroft's elbow to encourage him to move on.

"When we get home and have dinner we can raise a toast in Dippy's honour.. but for now, my mind's been taken over by that huge statue of Darwin." And the pair of you headed off, your hand very much staying place at Mycroft's arm as you wandered through the rooms- Mycroft more than willing to reel off facts about every deceased animal of history and, more often than not, even impressing the workers with his spiel of facts. Though you were very much enjoying wandering aimlessly through the room of human evolution, you most definitely noticed the pull from the man beside you as he was eager to reach his beloved dino-pals. As you turned the corner into the slightly darkened dinosaur room, you tripped over your feet slightly as you felt Mycroft stop in his tracks, his eyes wide and taking everything in. He looked as happy as a boy at Christmas and, quite frankly, it was adorable. You nudged him slightly when he still didn't move. "You okay?"

"Sorry, it just seems as though, no matter how many times I come here, it always feels like the first." He had shaken his head as though to bring his thoughts back to focus before taking a few steps into the gallery and leading you over to the skeletal remains of a Baryonyx. "The name Baryonyx roughly translates to 'Heavy Claw' from the Ancient Greek's 'Barys' meaning heavy and 'onyx' being claw or talon." He spoke, his voice smooth and relaxed as his fingers brushed over the board that announced the name of the creature within the glass. "It was also an excellent swimmer which it would use to its advantage while hunting." You listened to his every word as he spoke, grinning as he excitedly told you how many teeth it had and it's preferred techniques for capturing food before he moved you onto the next one.

"Oh these beauties have always been my favourite." You almost whispered, taking in the sight of the huge triceratops skull. You barely noticed Mycroft's hand shift from his pocket until you felt the heat of his palm against the small of your back, fingers squeezing slightly by your hip as he spoke.

"Mine too. Sherlock used to say they were boring and that we might as well have gone to the zoo to look at rhinos. He ended up spending 5 months trying to prove that the rhinos were descendants from the triceratops and then avoided me for 3 weeks when he realised there was no connection at all."

"That sounds about right. Though I can't imagine Sherlock enjoying it here very much anyway.." Mycroft began to guide you to a small bench just off the side to sit down, still giving you the view of the beautiful dinosaur bones.

"He didn't. When we were much younger he would kick off until Mummy and Father would tell us it's time to go and I had to go with them.. Then as we got a little older and Sherlock properly found his legs, he would simply run from the doors round to the science museum. Of course mummy and father had to follow him as he was so young, but one time I decided to stay here. They didn't realise I hadn't followed them until it was time to go home 5 hours later." Mycroft spoke quietly.

"Found his legs? That's at, what, four? Five? How young were you?"

"I was 9 the first time, I think." Now, Mycroft, you don't just 'think'; you know. Your hand moved to rest above his own on his knee, brushing your thumb fondly over his knuckles. "But it isn't all bad. Some of my best days as a child were spent here, and a lot of the staff were very kind and would teach me extra facts that weren't displayed. There was one gentleman who even gave me his own copies of some books that they had here. I'd wander the whole museum in time but I always found myself back here on this bench just.. watching. This room felt more like home than my very house sometimes. It was the room where I could escape the real world and find peace. Eventually Mummy, Father and Sherlock stopped bothering with the visits because Sherlock found the science museum boring after he'd prove them wrong on something each time, but I'd still pop back in on occasion without them.. Coming to think about it, I've never actually brought anybody here with me at all." You squeezed at his fingers and settled back into the bench.

"Well I am incredibly glad that I found out about your little interest, and I feel even more honoured that you let me come here with you." You beamed. And it was the truth. Evidently, this little museum meant much more to Mycroft than you could have ever imagined and it warmed your heart to know that he trusted you to see him nerd out over some bones.

"Eventually I used this very building as the scaffolding to build my mind palace. My files on Sherlock, very appropriately, are nestled in the human biology room. But most people's information is either stored in the entrance, where Dippy remains over Hope, might I add, or in a few of the rooms I find less interesting.." You didn't have to ask to know he was referencing 'that room with all the bloody rocks'. "I love most of the galleries too much to taint them with information on people that aren't important. The likes of Gregory and Doctor Watson now reside in Hintze Hall as the years have passed." His eyes remained focused in front of him, unblinking, as though he was wandering the very halls at that moment.

"And where.. where are my files?" You had to ask, really. Since he was on the subject anyway. "If you've put them in the marine reptiles room when you know I'm terrified of the ocean I shall never forgive you." Mycroft's hand flipped beneath yours so the pads of your fingers brushed before he blinked and looked over to you, a small smile on his face.

"Here." Oh. Well that's.. something. You shifted to give him a quick kiss on his cheek, knowing he wasn't overly fond of PDA and tugged him to stand.

"And on that note, I think we should go and grab some lunch before you make me cry in front of the dinosaurs."

---

After lunch, you both spent a few more hours walking from room to room (and of course circling round to the dinosaur gallery again) before you decided to call it a day at 4pm. Before departing, you headed towards the toilets that happened to be beside the little gift shop and you had a browse while Mycroft was occupied. Grinning, you picked up a deep blue plush triceratops and stroked a finger across its back. It was just small enough that, after purchasing, you could hide the little guy in the loose fabric of the sweatshirt you wore, acting innocent as you waited back outside near the wall. After going to the bathroom yourself, the pair of you headed outside where a car was waiting for you. Sliding in the back seat, you couldn't contain your little gift anymore.

"Surprise!" You laughed, producing the small toy from under your clothes and into the hands of the man beside you. He studied it briefly before beginning to laugh himself as he reached into his inner pocket and handed you the matching dinosaur, though purple in colour. "God, we're such children aren't we?" You noted as you swapped plushie companions, each of you brushing a finger on its nose as though it were a small pet. "I daren't think what your colleagues would say if they knew you were now the proud owner of a baby triceratops teddy that's.." You glanced at the tag. "..Suitable for children aged 12 months plus!"

"Probably nothing as bad as if they realised said triceratops was going to take proud placement on my desk at home." He beamed. "Thank you, this really does mean a great deal to me." You knew he wasn't just talking about the toy that rolled around his long fingers and you shifted to rest your head lightly on his shoulder.

"We can come back any time. I, for one, know I'll never get bored of looking through the galleries.. Or I'll never get bored of watching you light up as we walk through said galleries. Either or works, really." He hummed in response, his emotions slightly overwhelmed from the day and its revelations into his past. "Plus there were about 10 other little dinos in the shop and I've always been one to want a full collection.. so, if we pace ourselves, that's at least 10 more trips."

"13.. Although that could be tripled if we take the colour variations into account."

"Oh, of course! Can't half-arse a collection or it's just pointless."

"I concur."

"That's settled then. Almost 40 more trips to finish off our collection.. And thennnn we can move onto the figurines." Mycroft let out a laugh beside you and tilted to rest his head atop yours for the remainder of the journey home.

---

The evening between you was shared over a meal (where, as promised, a small toast was made to the memory of Sir Dippy) before Mycroft sat to finish the papers for Greg. Eventually you collapsed into bed at a relatively reasonable time, groaning at the throbbing in your legs from the day's adventure before finally slipping into rest.

---

The next day passed relatively quickly. The morning was spent visiting Greg in his office to drop off the papers before the pair of you took a small stroll through the streets of London. Eventually, Mycroft and yourself even got a text message from Sherlock giving a (albeit half-arsed) apology for his behaviour the day before and the rest of the day was spent in bliss. That was until exactly 17 minutes after you got back home when Mycroft's mobile began to ring. He swallowed deeply, showing you the caller ID of the person he had been dreading to speak to post-Eurus and answering.

"Ah, yes.. Hello, Mummy."

[aworldofgoldfish]

Mycroft Holmes as the tragic Hero of The Final Problem

"I am the smart one." It's a phrase being repeated many times in the series. While everyone sees Sherlock's intelligence and deduction skills, Mycroft feels the need to repeat it himself. He's more intelligent than Sherlock -apparently- but he can't be compared to his sister. No one can. However, she's locked, safely apart from humanity and their brother. Mycroft's intention is to protect his brother . At fourteen, he wasn't at all responsible for what has happened, but he took responsibility regardless. And he's proud of it. He really thinks he's doing something right. He's proud for being the smart one, Sherlock has forgotten the nightmarish past, and his sister cannot harm anyone else.  

Hubris – excessive pride and disrespect for the natural order of things.

Hubris (ancient Greek ὕβρις) describes a personality quality of extreme or foolish pride or dangerous overconfidence, often in combination with (or synonymous with) arrogance.

His 'hubris' is his absolute belief in his intellegence.

Hamartia – a tragic flaw that causes the downfall of a hero.

And that's his 'hamartia' as well.

The term hamartia derives from the Greek ἁμαρτία, from ἁμαρτάνειν hamartánein, which means “to miss the mark” or “to err”. To “sin”. 

Where does he go wrong? He's too certain of himself. Too certain in the world he has built, so he takes gifts to Eurus... and the plot they created alonside Sherlock to feed information to Moriarty and the fact the both of them didn't manage to consider that Moriarty's final plan to destroy Sherlock would be to kill himself doesn't teach him anything. He brought Moriarty to his sister, and after everything that take place, he doesn't consider that that action might have consequences.

He's absolutely certain his sister cannot communicate with the outside world, even when John says he's met her. Instead of working something safe, he follows Sherlock in a suicide mission, mostly because he doesn't realise how far things have gone. And he gets from sitting in the Director's armchair to being Eurus' Guinea Pig.

Peripeteia – The reversal of fate that the hero experiences.

Aristotle, in his Poetics, defines peripeteia as “a change by which the action veers round to its opposite, subject always to our rule of probability or necessity.” According to Aristotle, peripeteia, along with discovery, is the most effective when it comes to drama, particularly in a tragedy.

Mycroft refuses to play his sister's games, knows his place in his brother's life, and someone has to wonder if his speech seen rightly by Sherlock is done to make himself feel better in case Sherlock picks him either way. What would happen if Mycroft didn't try to attract venom from Sherlock by belittling John? Interesting how Sherlock knows him better than that, isn't it?

Catharsis – feelings of pity and fear felt by the audience, for the inevitable downfall of the protagonist.

Catharsis (from Greek κάθαρσις, meaning «purification» or «cleansing» or «clarification») refers to the purification and purgation of emotions—particularly pity and fear—through art or any extreme change in emotion that results in renewal and restoration.It is a metaphor originally used by Aristotle in the Poetics, comparing the effects of tragedy on the mind of a spectator to the effect of catharsis on the body.

Not in every tragedy, the hero dies, and thankfully in Sherlock no one does. But Mycroft's been brought down, he fell from grace if you prefer, his parents consider his brother -a brother Mycroft gave everything to protect- as the 'mature' one. Of course, we know it's total BS, and that absolutely humanises Mycroft. He becomes one of us just as we see his emotions, his mistakes, his shortcomings.

Mycroft isn't the protagonist of the story. Sherlock is, John is. But Mycroft gets to be the one with the character arc. Despite the initial attempt, we know from almost the start he's Sherlock's brother and that he cares. If he didn't care, Sherlock wouldn't be indifferent. He's never indifferent to the people who want to destroy him...

Mycroft is not a bad person. The last episode proves that. He's shocked by a suicide, he refuses to be part of choosing who's going to get killed, he's ready to be killed by his brother to save John, because it 'is his fault'. Because he realises everything is his fault.

  The tragic hero never loses his goodness, Aristotle establishes that pity is an emotion that must be elicited when, through his actions, the character receives undeserved misfortune (regardless of what John thinks), while the emotion of fear must be felt by the audience when they contemplate that such misfortune could possibly befall themselves in similar situations. Such misfortune is visited upon the tragic hero "not through vice or depravity but by some error of judgment."

To be honest, none of us would have a sister like Eurus, but how far would we go to protect those we love? Hasn’t Sherlock also faked his death to protect? But Mycroft as opposed to Sherlock understand he made mistakes, too late indeed, but he understands. 

And in a tv show like Sherlock where plot is more important than character, Mycroft becomes the lighthouse of the last episode.

IMHO

[sunchay]

Favorite cup

Mycroft and Greg have been living together for several years. They are married.

They wake up after another night together and go to the kitchen to make breakfast and drink coffee.

Greg takes two cups, one for himself and one for Mycroft. Inspector notices the strange look of the politician.

-Something wrong, dear?

-You have been using the same cup for several years now. - Mycroft answers.

-Well yes. What's bad about it?

-We have other cups, and this one should be thrown away.

The cup really looks terrible. Its sides are yellowed, and inside you can see traces of coffee, which can no longer be washed off. Cracks are visible on the handle and at the bottom of the cup, and the once noticeable pattern on the side has completely erased.

-You gave it to me, so I really like it. - Greg shrugs. He doesn't know that Mycroft is ashamed of this gift, because a few years ago the politician had no idea what to give to Greg.

-Gregory, I can give you a new cup, better than this one.

Greg shakes his head and walks over to Mycroft.

-You know people... People are rather strange, that's why we have a favorite cup... a favorite spoon... and, of course, a favourite person. - Greg smiles and hugs Mycroft. Mycroft smiles too.