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green-grape-gaze · 9 years

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Weary Bones

Awww, stranger had to go, but no matter! This was a very angsty and so good rp. It’s not long at all and should we continue, I’ll likely update it!

Stranger: [tw: torture. Established relationship] Mycroft climbed wearily out of the taxi, letting himself silently into his apartment. Looking around in the darkness, he spotted a half-full cup of his favourite tea on the coffee table. Sherlock was here, then. In spite of everything, Mycroft smiled. He had been hoping to see his brother. It had been very nearly twelve months since he had left England on a simple diplomatic visit, but things had got out of hand and what should have lasted a few weeks had kept him away for a year, confined and unable to contact home. Toeing off his shoes, he draped his jacket over the back of the sofa and padded into his bedroom, breath catching at the vision of Sherlock asleep in his sheets, body curled almost pitifully around Mycroft’s pillow. Crossing the room quickly, Mycroft gently extracted the pillow and took its place, wrapping his aching arms around his little brother.

You: Sleep had always been a hard time coming from the moment Mycroft had disappeared. Anthea would tell him nothing, nor would anyone he threatened. He'd done favours for Irene Adler, nipping at her heels in order to get information that merely sent him on goose chases. It had been a miserable year and it was obvious that it had worn down the detective. He'd very nearly given up, ready to admit to their parents that Mycroft wasn't on an extended trip, that he was too busy to visit them. The lie was getting harder and Sherlock could no longer hope in it himself. He found himself staying at his brother's far more often, using it as a crutch and comfort. The bed had stopped smelling of the man and was beginning to smell like him now, and even his brother's pillow lost its scent. It didn't stop him from using it, from curling around it as if he could protect the man himself. Sleep had struggled to come to him and was easily broken. So once Mycroft wrapped around him, taking his rightful place, Sherlock opened his eyes and clung to the older Holmes with a broken rasp of his brother's name on his tongue. "Mycroft."

Stranger: Mycroft held his brother tightly, needing very much to feel him in his arms. "Sherlock," he murmured brokenly, hearing all the pain in his little brother's tone. He had spent weeks crossing Europe, mostly on foot because all his resources had been lost when he was kidnapped and taken for questioning. He was exhausted, and felt close to death, but the thought of leaving Sherlock alone without so much as a proper goodbye had been too much, and forced him to keep going through it all. And now he had him, back in his embrace where he belonged. After thinking he was going to die before he got this experience again, it was quite overwhelming, and Mycroft felt hot tears building in his eyes and spilling silently onto his cheeks. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, though he had done everything he could to escape and get home. "I love you." He had wanted to say it every day since his capture, but the words refused to pass his lips unless they were going to fall on the ears of the one person he meant them for.

You: The murmur proved that this simply wasn't a dream. In all the times he had thought about it, he had never expected Mycroft to ever come home to him like this. To say his name in such a way, or to apologize for being gone. He had imagined Mycroft as either dead, or merely displeased for having found his brother using his things in a near constant manner. Nonetheless, with the man there, truly there, Sherlock reacted much the same. Tears collected at the brim of his lashes before giving piteous drops down his cheeks. His nail gripped the shirt Mycroft wore tightly and his breaths became hot ragged gasps as he replied. "You were gone for so long, I didn't think you would come back... I didn't-/Mycroft/." He wheezed, the sound gross in how emotional it came out. He burrowed in tightly, attempting to bury himself into the man. "You're home, you're finally home... I couldn't find you. I failed."

Stranger: Keeping one arm firmly around Sherlock, he raised the other to tenderly catch his brother's tears as they fell, the now-rough pad of Mycroft's thumb stroking his wet cheeks. "Shh," he murmured softly, "it's okay, little one, I'm here now. I've got you." He comforted his brother as well as he could through his own gasping sobs, kissing his forehead almost desperately in a bid to soothe both their nerves. All the feelings of hopelessness and despair, of need and want and consuming love that he had pushed aside to focus on staying alive all flooded back, bombarding his mind until all he could do was cling to Sherlock in returned, peppering kisses over his face, their tears mingling when their skin touched. "You didn't fail," he whispered, looking deep into his little brother's watery eyes. "I promise, you didn't. I just needed you to be here to come home to," he added, voice catching in his throat as he remembered the nightmares he'd had about coming back to find Sherlock had lost hope and given up. He knew the same situation in reverse would have broken him.

You: There was a choked hiccup, as if Sherlock had reverted back to being a child and had lost Redbeard. As if his best friend were gone and dead once and he was still trailing right after Mycroft's heels. His sobs were uncontrollable, broken, and wailing in strength and sound. As if he'd shattered inexplicably. He struggled to breathe properly, but the man's soothing touches were beginning to help calm down the tittering until he was left nothing but shaky exhales and the occasional big gulp. "I was so scared you wouldn't ever come back. I was so scared, Mycroft." He spoke, selfish all on his own with the attention. As if he couldn't bring himself to think of what his brother had gone through, or how his brother might currently feel. He let his hands released his brother, feeling him and patting down every inch he could to feel the man. He knew exactly how much weight he'd lost and was already garnering a feeling of what might have happened. He waited until Mycroft stopped peppering kisses over his face before relinquishing hold of the attention to pass it onto the other man. "How much pain are you in?

stranger had to go...

#holmescest #mylock rp #mylock #holmescest rp #sherlock rp

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lovinpeople · 10 years

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Holmescest anyone?

Things were different with Sherlock when he was still a child.

There were long summer days they would spend together outside in the garden, Sherlock running around until he was so tired that he would just fall next to Mycroft, head resting on his lap but mind always working and mouth never shutting. There were cold December evenings when Sherlock would curl up on the floor next to Mycroft’s feet and skim through his books while his brother was studying or reading. There were weekend mornings when Mycroft and Sherlock woke up in the older’s bed, Sherlock’s curls tickling Mycroft’s neck when the boy was hugging up close like a puppy looking for caresses and affection. There were trips to London and holiday breakfasts on the patio and piano lessons working Sherlock up because he hated it when Mycroft was better at something. But then, at eighteen, Mycroft went to Oxford and Sherlock was left alone.

Mycroft knew this was going to be disturbing for both of them, had known it long before once, in the dead of night, Sherlock opened the creaking door and slid under the covers, waking him up to ask about what would happen when he left in October. And, though, gathering him close, he reassured the boy that nothing would change between them, it only broke his heart more, confirming him in his resolution to shut off his feelings for Sherlock as soon as possible to protect himself from getting hurt even further. Right as he left, he stopped calling, writing and visiting family house. Didn’t see Sherlock for three months at first and only talked to him twice, and when he came back, the boy didn’t want to speak to him at all. Mycroft decided it was better for both of them.

As for someone so intelligent, it was quite surprising that it took him whole eight years to realise what he had done. To realise that he had let his little sweet brother down and that, in the course of years, the emotional, vulnerable boy had turned into a cold young man full of nonchalant grace, who had some problems with drugs and cigarettes and didn’t want to have much in common with Mycroft — it wasn’t a wonder. And only when Sherlock turned up high, loud and regretful at Mummy’s Christmas party, his face pale and sweaty, eyes flickering and hair dishevelled, and Mycroft needed to escort him almost unconscious to his old room, did he fully understand. Now, in the early morning after this utter embarrassment, he eventually pulled himself together enough to loudly knock at this door he had been avoiding and have a talk with Sherlock, a real talk, the first in years. Parents were still asleep and probably so was his little brother but it had been long since Mycroft went so carelessly to sleep for the last time or slept longer than four or five hours.

Please message me if you want to try it out! :)

#holmescest #holmescest rp #mylock #mylock rp #shercroft #shercroft rp #rp #sherlock rp #sherlock holmes #mycroft holmes #sherlock and mycroft #sherlock bbc #sherlock #holmes brothers

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leavemeheretowrite · 11 years

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You: It's mother's anniversary, there are no flowers, so you didn't come.-SH

Stranger: No. I didn't. MH

You: You have made me come since she died and now you didn't come.-SH

Stranger: I couldn't do it today. MH

You: That's no excuse, I couldn't either and I'm here.-SH

Stranger: Would you like me to be there? MH

You: Of course.-SH

Stranger: Then I will be there in twenty minutes. MH

You: I thought you couldn't.-SH

You: It doesn't matter, just come.-SH

Stranger: /Emotionally/ I couldn't, Sherlock. But, you asked, so, I will try. MH

You: Good, that's good.-SH

Stranger: How are you, whilst we're still on speaking terms? MH

You: Are you asking if I'm sad?.-SH

Stranger: I am asking you how you are doing, overall. Are you sad? MH

You: I'm not actually sad, maybe nostalgic.-SH

You: Are you sad?-SH

Stranger: That's she's gone? No. On the terms I parted with her? Yes. MH

You: You didn't want to come because you were sad.-SH

Stranger: Yes. MH

You: Does it bother you then that I've asked you to come?-SH

Stranger: A bit. But, you asked, so, I'm coming. MH

You: She was a bit mad with me when she died too, but she loved you much more than she loved me, Mycroft.-SH

Stranger: That was what we were arguing about. MH

You: I know.-SH

You: Do you miss her?-SH

Stranger: A bit. Not much, though; she wasn't the best of parents. Do you? MH

You: I don't. I miss a few things of my childhood, but not her, not that much.-SH

Stranger: Really? MH

Stranger: I wouldn't think there was much of either of our childhoods to miss. MH

You: I miss when she used to play the piano and I miss when you used to read me stories.-SH

Stranger: Ah. I miss that, too. MH

You: Which one?-SH

You: Or both?-SH

Stranger: Mostly the second one. I detested that piano. Remember when she tried to force me to take lessons? MH

You: Yeah, you almost cried. It was kind of funny.-SH

Stranger: It was not! That teacher was the devil's incarnate; he kept hitting me with a ruler when I messed up. MH

Stranger: And then he somehow lost the ruler. MH

You: Yes, I buried the ruler in the garden. And I stole his car keys too.-SH

Stranger: Ah. Always looking out for me, little brother. MH

You: You're welcome, brother.-SH

Stranger: Thank you. MY

Stranger: *MH

You: I remember that time that I fell into the pool, in those awfully boring vacations, and you had to rescue me.-SH

Stranger: Yes. God, that was terrifying. MH

You: But you did save me and I cried, because I thought I was going to die, I was so dramatic.-SH

Stranger: You still are. MH

You: I am not. Besides you were the one who cried because I was too little to go to that famous exposition and we had to stay in home.-SH

Stranger: True. There were, ironically, many tears shed during our childhood. MH

Stranger: And I cried because there would be /elephants/, Sherlock. I am quite fond of elephants. MH

You: How could I know? I was two. I know now though.-SH

Stranger: Yes. MH

Stranger: Do you remember the time we nearly burnt down the house? Because of that deestable nanny? MH

You: Oh, yes. She deserved it though. Making us go to bed at nine, what was she thinking.-SH

Stranger: Yes. Obviously. She called us demon children and left the country. MH

Stranger: … Come to think of it, most all our nannies did. MH

You: You were the troublemaker though. I was a well behaved little kid.-SH

Stranger: Ha. Of course. MH

Stranger: /I/ wasn't the one that pulled down the drapery in order to make a parachute, jump off the roof, abd break his leg. MH

You: Oh, yes. That was very fun. It worked though, the parachute. I just didn't know how to fall properly.-SH

Stranger: There's still a dent in the ground from that. MH

You: Come on, it was fun.-SH

Stranger: I nearly had a heart attack. There was blood. MH

You: Well, now it's fun, in that moment wasn't.-SH

Stranger: Right. MH

Stranger: I'm pretty sure that, had I died young, you would have been to blame. MY

Stranger: *MH

You: And I am the one being dramatic?-SH

Stranger: Sherlock, I have a list. MH

You: You do? That must be fun to read.-SH

Stranger: For you, maybe. It scared me everytime. MU

Stranger: *MH

You: I was a child, I didn't know.-SH

You: Yes, I did, but only sometimes.-SH

Stranger: Not in the last few, you aren't. MH

Stranger: The last three are the time I found you ODed, the time I had to get you away from that Trevor boy, and the time you got shot by that robbery suspect. Those all happened when you were an adult. MH

Stranger: And they still terrified me. MH

You: You're always looking after me, I know.-SH

Stranger: I have to be. MH

Stranger: I would never forgive myself if I allowed something to happen to you. MH

You: I know, Mycroft.-SH

You: And I appreciate the concern.-SH

Stranger: Of course. MH

Stranger: … On a far lighter note, that pirate dress-up costume you had is still in the attic. MH

You: Oh, no. Not the pirate costume, get rid of it.-SH

Stranger: But you were /adorable/ in it. MH

You: All children look good in costumes, Mycroft. But you can't possibly keep that, what a embarrassment.-SH

Stranger: No. I think I'll keep it, for nostalgia's sake. MH

You: Please, don't show it to people.-SH

You: You know I never say please.-SH

Stranger: I wasn't going to, don't worry. MH

You: Good, I was a great pirate though.-SH

Stranger: Yes. Captain Holmes was feared throughout the household. MH

You: Remember that time when I was playing and I broke one of mother's porcelain dolls? I was grounded for a month.-SH

Stranger: The doll had it coming. MH

You: Definitely. I remember that time when I ran away. I was five.-SH

Stranger: Yes. I was bawling for hours, how could I forget? MH

You: I was just in the basement. Nobody looked there. Well, you did. You found me.-SH

Stranger: Yes, and I believe you said- and I quote- "Myc, if you hug me anymore, my guts are going to fall out". MH

You: Well, you were hugging me very thigh, Mycroft.-SH

Stranger: I was relieved! MH

You: I couldn't breath.-SH

You: But I said thank you, remember? And then when you cried, I cried too.-SH

Stranger: Like I said, we did a lot of crying. MH

You: Yes, well, remembering happy things, I laughed that time that we were caught eating pie in my room. They blamed it on you, but it was funny when we felt the door and ran.-SH

You: I hit my head with the desk, remember? But we kept laughing.-SH

Stranger: Yes, I do remember. That was quite fun, actually. MH

You: It was, like that time when we were playing hide-and-seek and accidentally broke the telly.-SH

Stranger: Oh, god, that was hilarious. NH

Stranger: *MH

You: See? We had our good memories.-SH

You: You taught me how to play the violin in that house too.-SH

Damn the best people always disappear.

#holmescest #omegle #shercroft rp #mylock rp

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oocposhbee · 8 years

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Looking for Holmescest RPs

Hey guys! I write Sherlock and I’m looking for someone who’s into writing Mycroft for some Holmescest rps since omegle is down. You can email me at [email protected] if you’re interested, and we can talk plot! Up for anything from plotless smut to long-term au stories.

#holmescest rp #mylock rp #holmescest #mylock #sherlock rp

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dicproposito · 11 years

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HOLMESCEST RP, ANYONE?

I really want a Mycroft/Sherlock RPer.

Really

badly.

I mean, Holmescest is just

Anyone?

#Holmescest #Mycroft/Sherlock #Mylock #Rp #Mylock RP #request #RP request

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green-grape-gaze · 10 years

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Over & Out

Ugh. I love this way too much. Guilty fragile Sherlock is my favorite. Thank you very much stranger!

You: Please come home. SH

Stranger: No. -MH

You: I didn't mean it. SH Not entirely. SH

Stranger: It's not important to me if you meant it or not-MH

You: Then come home. SH

Stranger: ...but it doesn't make it less difficult to be with you right now-MH

You: I'm sorry. SH

Stranger: No you're not. And you don't even understand what you did.-MH

You: Then tell me. SH

Stranger: It's your fault so you've got to figure out what you did wrong -MH

You: Can we simply forget it happened and move on? SH

Stranger: I don't think so Sherlock. -MH

You: Mycroft, please. SH I despise it when you're disappointed in me. SH

Stranger: I know you do. -MH

You: It was just once. SH

Stranger: Just once i enough, Sherlock -MH

You: Please. SH

Stranger: You've been with someone else -MH

You: It was only once. I won't do it again. SH

Stranger: Sherlock, it dowsn't matter hoq often. -MH

You: It didn't mean anything, Mycroft, please. SH

Stranger: you should have thought about that before you slept with him-MH

You: It was for the case. SH

Stranger: That doesn't make it less worse-MH

You: If the situation presented itself, you would not do the same? SH

Stranger: Of course not, Sherlock. -MH

You: [Delayed] I'm sorry, Mycroft. SH

Stranger: I know you are-MH

You: Tell me how to fix this. SH

Stranger: You can't. -MH

You: Please. SH

Stranger: Leave me alone for a while-MH

You: [Delayed] Of course... SH

Stranger: (3 weeks later) How's your new case going?-MH

You: Fine. It's fine. SH

Stranger: Great. -MH

You: How is work? SH

Stranger: Same old-MH

You: [Delayed] I'm not entirely sure how to continue this conversation. SH I assume you wanted to tell me something? SH

Stranger: I wanted to tell you that I'm going to canada for 3 month-MH

You: [Long Delay] I see. SH

Stranger: Gregory will come with me. -MH

You: Right. Of course. SH Then I believe that's settled then, isn't it? SH

Stranger: It is. -MH

Stranger: It's better like this, Sherlock. -MH

You: Piss off. SH

Stranger: I will. -MH

You: I'm more than sure you will. SH If this was the outcome, you could have simply told me. SH

Stranger: I just did, brother dearest-MH

Stranger: I love you. And I always will. -MH

You: Earlier. Waiting three months for a response, giving you the space that you desired. SH Only to tell me this. Entirely delightful, Mycroft. SH Don't force yourself to say something no longer true. I'm aware of how much I've ruined this. SH

Stranger: Three weeks, Sherlock. And the outcome wasn't what I intended on doing in the first place -MH

Stranger: Talk to John, he'll be more than happy to be there for you and in your bed again-MH

Stranger: Also I am not lying and you know that-MH

You: Yes, well, three weeks feels for much longer when you've been a near daily conversation. SH It wasn't John I slept with, but you're right. He'd simply love to sleep with me. SH Now I've the freedom to whore myself out. You'll be gone for three months, I might as well enjoy myself sexually. SH Have a delightful trip. SH

Stranger: Sherlock, you're being childish-MH

You: Yes. I am. SH Because I expected an entirely different outcome. SH I expected you to tell me you were still mad but that you weren't leaving. SH That you wouldn't hold it over me, and I was wrong. Entirely wrong. SH How exciting it must be for you to hear me say it again and again. SH

You: You've always been the smart one, Mycroft. SH

Stranger: I want to see you. -MH

You: No you don't. SH You want to go to Canada for three months with Lestrade. SH

Stranger: I want to see you and hold you. -MH

You: No. SH

Stranger: (5 minutes later) You've changed the lock.-MH

You: As if you couldn't pick it. SH I knew it was coming. Foolishly I decided to think it might be different. SH

Stranger: Because it's better for both of us, Sherlock-MH

You: Then why say you wish to see me? Or hold me? SH You want to make it harder, don't you? You've already accomplished what you set out to do. SH Simply leave me be. SH

Stranger: Because I do and I can't help it but I've always been there for you when you were feeling down. And now I want to make sure you're okay. -MH

You: Leave. SH

Stranger: I want to memorise your body -MH

Stranger: Also I'm desperate to hold you in my arms again-MH

Stranger: Let's make love for a last time, Sherlock-MH

You: No. SH

Stranger: I can tell that you want this as much as I do. -MH

Stranger: I'm in your living room now-MH

You: Of course I do but I'm not an idiot, Mycroft. SH

Stranger: No You're not. That's why you should agree with me. Otherwise you won't find a proper ending to 'us' -MH

You: No. I won't, because if I do, it will replay every day. SH You'll leave for Canada and I'll still be able to smell you on my sheets. SH And I won't find the strength to change the locks. You'll be gone. SH Perfectly fine and gone. SH

Stranger: I can hear you crying upstairs and I'll be with you in a moment -MH

You: Leave, Mycroft. Just leave. SH

Stranger: If you try so much than lock me out of your bedroom I will try everything to get in. And I I need to misuse my work for that then I will. -MH

Stranger: Of course the door wasn't locked. Another sign that had Mycroft knowing that Sherlock didn't really want him to stay out. He opened the door and went straight over to the bed where he sat down and ran his hand over Sherlocks back that was turned towards him "You look awful, brother." he muttered and bent down to place a kiss on his hair

You: It was his final decision to ignore Mycroft. He drew his long limbs up to his chest, curling into a ball as if to compose himself from sight. He'd already been given away, but it wasn't going to stop him from trying to cut the situation down. He wasn't going to respond. He wasn't going to let Mycroft get what he wanted only to be faced with losing him. He wasn't going to give in. So he pressed his chin into his chest and ducked his face from view without a word.

Stranger: Mycroft sighed because he knew this from way before, Sherlock has done this very often when they were little and he wouldn't want to talk to Mycroft. So talking wouldn't help at all. But what would help was... Mycroft climbed onto the bed and ran his hand over Sherlock's side, caressing the soft skin that was showing and brushed his nose over Sherlock's ear, closing his arms around his brother.

You: It was cheap, really. It was. It made him want to cry harder, his breathing pattern that was already jilted becoming more harsh and choked. He broke out into a pain sob, a hoarse cry, before quieting down to nothing but racked shoulders. His grip over himself was tighter, the pressure building in his chest throbbing and tightening the knots in his stomach. It was over. Truly over.

Stranger: Mycroft turned Sherlock over so he would face him when he heard the cry and he cupped his cheek "Stop that. You know what it does to your mind." he caressed it and added a bit softer "I would never forgive me if we separate like this" his hand ran over Sherlock's back, the way he had always enjoyed it when he was a kid. Mycroft had spent hours by his little brothers child, just caressing his back until he was asleep.

You: "It's fine. My mind is /fine/." Was the bitter retort, hands reaching up to shove the tender touches away. "/Leave/." He pressed more firmly, gripping Mycroft's wrists to keep his gentle fingertips away. His skin burned with longing, with wanting to feel more-such an idiot he was. Foolish to think it would be okay. "Go. Just leave me alone, please. /Please/." Sherlock gasped, throat closing up on him.

Stranger: Mycroft swallowed hard and he looked Sherlock in the eyes, red from crying and filled with so much pain "Oh Sherlock" he added in a hoarse voice he didn't recognize as his own. He bent down to kiss Sherlock's lips carefully Nd sighed, pulling him closer again, ignoring the struggle

You: Breaking bit by bit, Sherlock just cried harder, hands balling into fists to rest against his brother's chest. He shoved, knocking the fat of his palms and knuckles to push his brother away. It went on three times before he gave in and stayed where he was, just trembling. He didn't say anymore, knowing he wouldn't win.

Stranger: Mycroft held him until he could feel his brothers defense was broken and he just stayed like this for a bit longer, then he could find the courage to talk again "It's my fault. I should have been there for you. We should have had more... sex. You deserve someone better." he kissed Sherlock's trembling lips "You do, Sherlock. You've got a beautiful mind and soul and you are gorgeous."

You: "I don't want anyone else," he brokenly murmured. He pressed in, fingers gripping the auburn haired man's shirt tightly. "I just wanted you-it was a mistake. I was an idiot. I was so stupid... I'm sorry. I am. I won't ever do it again. Please don't. Just don't." He begged, unable to do much more. He knew it was over, but it was all he could do now. All he could even dare to say.

stranger has disconnected...

#holmescest #mylock #holmescest rp #sherlock rp #mylock rp

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green-grape-gaze · 10 years

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I've Never Known

I adored this rp, so much so that I pushed off sleeping so I could continue. Utter agony, but I'll muscle on. You were a delight, stranger! Truly. <3

Stranger: Where are you? You've worried your doctor. MH

You: Leave me be. SH

Stranger: I will not tell him, but I need to know. MH

You: I'm fine. SH

Stranger: Do not lie to me. You aren't good at it. MH

You: Mycroft, enough. SH

Stranger: If you do not tell me where you are, I will track your phone and send a car to collect you. MH

You: [Delayed] I'm at the end of your street. SH

Stranger: Ah. MH Well, get here quickly. I will make you tea. MH

You: No. SH

Stranger: Are you not coming here? MH

You: No. I simply needed to walk around. SH

Stranger: Then why did you end up on my street? MH

You: It's on the way. SH

Stranger: No, it isn't. You've walked several miles to reach my street. MH

You: And why ever would I do that? SH

Stranger: Because you are upset. MH

You: For what reason would I be upset? SH

Stranger: I do not know, but you only ever come walk my street when you are upset. Or when you want to see me for some reason. MH

You: Why is John worried? SH

Stranger: Because you left the flat without a word and have been gone for hours, apparently. MH

You: Did you contact me because you were worried that I might relapse? SH

Stranger: Yes, if you must know. MH I worry, brother. MH

You: I ought to be surprised by how little you think of my resolve. SH

Stranger: I think that someone has done something to upset you, and that you are impulsive. MH

You: I almost did, which of course you know. SH I had the contact, I was staging the exchange, but I kept walking. SH

Stranger: I'm proud of you. MH Come have a cup of tea. It's cold out, and I can send you home later. MH

You: No. SH

Stranger: Why? MH

You: I don't want tea. SH

Stranger: Come anyway. MH

You: I don't want to be consoled. SH I don't want your pride. SH

Stranger: I am not going to console you. I am not going to do anything. We can simply play a game, or sit in silence while you brood. MH

You: This. I don't want whatever this is that you're doing. SH

Stranger: I am attempting to be brotherly. MH

You: Of course. SH

Stranger: Very well. I will send a car to take you home. MH

You: No. I'm going to continued walking. SH

Stranger: I cannot allow you to do that. Not if the temptation has become that severe. MH

You: I'm going home. I'll be fine. SH

Stranger: (delay) I cannot stop you. I will be watching on CCTV to ensure you make it home. MH

You: This is utterly deplorable. SH Come out yourself and collect me. SH

Stranger: You expect me to go out in the cold? MH

You: Yes. SH

Stranger: Fine. I am on my way. MH

You: I'll be here. SH

Stranger: Mycroft sighed, putting on his coat before walking out into the street. It was cold, nearly unbearable. The fact that Sherlock had walked so far was worrying, to say the least. He found him on the corner, clearing his throat to get his attention. "It's freezing out here," he observed. "Now, will you come along?"

You: Sherlock remained where he was and where he had been for quite some time. He leaned against a wall, hands held together and fingers tangled. He heard the steps of his brother and knew he was being collected, yet he didn't bother to move. He sat in silence for several pregnant minutes before pushing to his feet. His hands were tucked into his pockets and he walked forward. Making it obvious that he would follow.

Stranger: Mycroft was worried. Genuinely worried. It wasn't like Sherlock to sit out in the cold for such a ridiculous period of time. He led him back to the flat in silence, curious as to what had gotten him so worked up to begin with. He took him into the living room, turning to face him only then. "What happened?" He kept his voice neutral, knowing that pity would certainly not be received well.

You: He was pleased by the silence until Mycroft mucked it up by finally speaking. He looked ahead, taking in the moldings and decor along the walls. He was avoiding it, just taking a minute to gather himself, but soon he was responding carefully. "It's not important. I'll just be here for a few hours and then I'll go back." He returned, not bothering to slip out of his coat or remove his scarf or gloves. He just made his way around the room taking all the details in.

Stranger: Mycroft took a deep breath before deciding that he was going to have to deal with this. It was rare for Sherlock to be so completely unresponsive. He followed along behind his brother, wondering if he should comment on the coat. "I need to know what he did," he said after a moment. "You are clearly... unhappy." He'd be staying for longer than a few hours, that was certain. Mycroft wasn't going to let him leave to get high.

You: Sherlock stopped in front of a book case, finger tip on the spine of an old novel full of utter drivel. "Am I?" He inquired before pulling down with his finger to send the book cascading down to the floor. "Why assume it's something John did?" He inquired, doing it to another book and then another. As if he were slowly beginning to splinter. He picked up a book, skimmed over the title page and then tossed it over his shoulder.

Stranger: Mycroft stepped up, placing his hand over Sherlock's to stop the dissolution of his bookcase. "What has happened?" he asked, rephrasing the question so that it wasn't specific to John. Something was happening with his brother, and he was not going to allow it to continue. Sherlock was not about to be damaged by whatever this is. "Sherlock, tell me what's bothering you." He didn't bother picking up the books from the floor, all of his attention on the man before him.

You: Just like a child, Sherlock's expression shifted with a myriad of emotions. As if he couldn't keep them all in-as if there were simply far too many for him to process. Anger, hurt, confusion-a melancholy disaster ready to erupt. He splintered and broke apart at every turn. Slowly, from the inside, he was tearing himself up. "I could get it so easily. I could hide my paths, and you'd never know. I could find a way to get it without either of you being aware. It would be so easy-child's play Mycroft. The need for it just burns. As if I'm going through a secondary withdrawal. It's an itch now, but you and I both know I'll be in flames within the hour."

Stranger: Mycroft sighed quietly, nodding. So that's what this was about. Whether or not it had been emotionally motivated, it had devolved into a need for the one thing that Mycroft would not allow him to have. He looked so like a child at the moment. Perhaps that was the way to help him. Mycroft turned him so that they were facing each other, reaching for the buttons of his coat. "I know," he said simply. "We will keep it in check, Sherlock. I will help you. But first, we're getting off your coat and scarf, and then you'll have a cup of tea with me on the sofa. You're going to tell me why this is happening, if you can."

You: Treated like a child, which was exactly how he looked. However, he was stubborn and he didn't want to be treated as a child. He wanted to be... He wasn't sure. Just not this. He let Mycroft get as far as his coat before removing the rest himself. "No. I don't want tea. I don't want to talk." Which was true. He wanted to be destructive. He wanted to break something and create havoc. There was /so/ much inside of him. "I don't want to sit and discuss anything. I don't want to /talk/. This... Brotherly caring is tedious." He concluded, fingers twitching as if he meant to do something, yet Sherlock remained facing the man.

Stranger: Mycroft got Sherlock out of his coat before it went badly. Too much energy stored inside of his brother, too many emotions. That was always Sherlock's problem. It wasn't that he didn't feel anything, it was that he felt everything too deeply. He set aside the coat and his own before answering. "If you did not wish for me to care, you would not have asked me to come and collect you," he said reasonably, grabbing Sherlock's hand to stop the twitch. "So you want something from me. If it is not to talk, then what is it?"

You: He tugged free from the hand immediately. He couldn't be touched. He was so volatile... He was going to burst and he hated it. He could feel the aftermath already rising inside of him. Sadness and disapproval. He was disgusted with himself and it showed on his face. "I don't want this forced attention. I don't want you to act like you need to. I want-" And that was the true statement. He wanted something, he simply didn't know /what/. He turned on his heel to stalk away. Each step heavy and quick as if he might break into a run. Instead, the brunet shoved everything of the buffet table to send it all crashing to the floor.

Stranger: Mycroft was not much of one for physical confrontation. But he quite liked his things. And he didn't like this current attitude of his brother's. He followed easily enough, grabbing Sherlock by the shoulders and backing him against the wall, holding him there with one arm over his chest. Sherlock had always been the better fighter, but he'd taken him by surprise. He kept his entire weight against his arm, awkwardly close to his brother, but such was the cost of making sure no more of his things were broken. "You are not damaging my property because you /want/ something. What is it?"

You: He had been taken off guard, and as soon as he was against the wall, he moved to kick back. However, he was held in place, head tipped forward slightly. Sherlock looked at the proximity between them before calculating his next moves. "You can't give me any of it. Rather pointless, isn't it, Mycroft?" He sneered; ugly, bitter, and frustrated. "Let me go. I'm going home." He spoke up immediately as he used his whole body to lurch forward and shove his leg between the other mans. Just to make his shove more effective. "You're just as powerless as I am in this situation, brother mine. It's delightful, isn't it?"

Stranger: Mycroft hated that look on Sherlock's face, and he sneered right back. He'd seen the shove coming. It put him off balance for only a moment before he was pushing forward, pinning Sherlock to the wall again, this time bracing a leg between the other man's, pressed chest to chest in an effort to contain him. "I am never powerless," he huffed. "And do not assume I cannot give you the things that you want. Tell me what it is." He was panting slightly, a bit flustered, nothing like he would normally be. Damn Sherlock for making him do this.

You: Thrown once more, Sherlock truly was pinned. He let his head fall back for just a second. He did try again, persistent as always. Once he was met with a similar outcome of being unable to do much more than remain, he gave in. "I despise you. Always believing you're several steps ahead. That you've all your moves calculated and the cards are in your favor. I hate it." He bit out, seething and so obviously bitter. And then there was a look of helplessness. Of dawning that he was stuck where he was. He reared up one more time, vocally rather than physically. "Let. Go."

Stranger: Mycroft had always known that Sherlock harbored very little friendship for him, but it was still a bit less than pleasant to hear him say that he was despised. He pushed him back into the wall, knowing that it wasn't going to help, but he could not let him go. "I will not," he said firmly. "I am not moving." The helplessness was more worrying than the anger. "Tell me what you need." It was a simple battle, and Sherlock would be the first to blink, if only because Mycroft was going to ensure he would not return to the drugs. He simply had the better motivation. "Tell me."

You: There was that expression again. Overlapping emotions and helplessness that finally ended in a defeated expression. He gave in, body limp, a hand snaking its way up to cover his face. To hide what he could of himself. Hatred didn't lay with his brother, but with himself. So weak to give in and allow his emotions to betray him. He sagged with a shaky breath as he built the words to explain himself. "I can't have it. No matter what it is, I can't have it. The high, the stability-/you/. I am stuck in this loop of need and starvation, and I will never get what I want."

Stranger: Mycroft relaxed somewhat as his brother broke. It wasn't exactly what he had wanted, but he had the information he needed. "You cannot have the high," he agreed, letting his grip slacken and wrapping his arm around his waist instead. "But you can have stability. And as always, I am at your service." He took a step back, bringing Sherlock with him, encouraging him to simply relax and let himself be held. He had responded well to touch when they'd been younger, and he figured it couldn't hurt now. "Tell me what you need from me, little brother."

You: He followed brokenly. His body curling into the hold that Mycroft provided. It was the perfect shell, but never the guise he needed. Familial comfort was not what he desired and it never would be. Nonetheless, for the time being, Sherlock remained where he was in the embrace. "I need you. I merely need you." And there was nothing more he could say of it. If it weren't obvious, then he wouldn't dare say more. He could break what fragility there was with his secrets. He couldn't hide it for much longer, but for now... Now he could attempt to relax and let his brother lead him,

Stranger: Mycroft considered his words, his actions, thinking everything through. There were several possible interpretations for what his brother had said, but one that seemed to ring the most true. He took a deep breath, idly reaching up to play with Sherlock's curls the way he'd done when they were young and Sherlock had bad dreams. "Alright," he said softly, turning to gently kiss Sherlock's cheek. If he were wrong, most likely this would end badly. But he did not believe he was. "Alright, Sherlock. You have me."

You: The fingers in his hair were familiar and desperately sought after. Without thinking, he pushed into the hand with a shaky inhale. He held onto that breath, waiting for a shoe to drop, or a word to be uttered that might disprove his desires. Yet Mycroft leaned in to press a chaste kiss against his skin and Sherlock found it hard to breathe. Forgetting such a simple necessity ought to be embarrassing on any other day. Except for now. At this very moment he had what he wanted. Not all of it, but enough. The more important factor had given way and the brunet sagged only further with a sobbing exhale. He reached forward to greedily grip at Mycroft's shirt and tug him closer. He clung with the hands of life and death. Neither ashamed nor embarrassed-merely relieved. "Thank you," he breathed, eyes closed.

Stranger: Mycroft nodded, holding Sherlock to his chest and stroking his hair. This was what Sherlock needed from him, and he would provide it. He led him to the sofa, sitting on it lengthwise and simply pulling Sherlock along with him so that he was curled up on his chest. In a normal state of mind, Sherlock would have been absolutely mortified to find himself in such position, but he was not in a normal state of mind. He kept scratching lightly at his scalp, held close to his chest with his other arm. "Breathe, Sherlock," he said gently, pressing his lips to his cheek again. That was safe, if barely. It could still technically be considered brotherly affection, even if he moved closer to his lips with every kiss. "Just breathe. You're fine. You're safe. I have you."

You: Safe. A word used as a balm to etch the waves of chaos away. He burrowed into the warmth of the body below him and trailed his hands up slightly as if to hold in return. The hand against him and the hand in his hair soothed him in ways he could not vocalize. He didn't bother to try. What would be the point? Mycroft would find out soon. He tipped his head, angling it just so as to place his lips gingerly against his brother's. All pretenses gone. This was what he desired and he wanted to get just a taste of it. He had neither stable nor secure emotionally, and now Sherlock let himself settle. Bundled nerves untangling just to bunch together before finally soothing. It was all draining away, giving him the chance to melt in place.

disconnected...

#mylock #mylock rp #shercroft #shercroft rp #omegle rp #sherlock rp #emotional sherlock #queue

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lovinpeople · 10 years

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Anyone?

[AU: July 1914. They’re aristocracy. Sherlock is gay and hiding it. Mycroft is studying at Oxford. Father is working for the government.]

Summer this year was unusually hot and sunny, apparently having abandoned typical English weather for good. Sherlock, back from Eton for holidays, could spend all his days outside, either swimming in the pool, or, at times, just looking up at the light blue sky without one little puff across it, or in the beautiful garden at the back of the mansion lying in a deckchair and reading a book. Those were usually the ones he didn’t have to hide from his father. The others were left for lonely nights in his room, away from nosey mother and overly inquisitive eyes—‘The Communist Manifesto’, ‘The Origin of Species’, Freud’s or ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’—since sometimes even Mycroft didn’t seem to be trustworthy enough to show him what his little brother was delving into at the moment, with deep blushes on his cheeks—‘The Sins of the Cities of the Plain’ or ‘Teleny, or The Reverse of the Medal’.

Mycroft, though, often accompanied him in the evening for an hour or two when the day got a bit cooler and sun wouldn’t burn his pale skin (as it had already burnt the back of Sherlock’s legs after he had carelessly fallen asleep). But this time it wasn’t holidays like always—there was too much uneasiness in the world to ignore it. Even here in the country where the reality could be easily forgotten and Sherlock could just lock himself up in the world of books and his own thoughts and ideas, pretending nothing was happening, this spread fear was visible in their father’s features if he happened to be home and sometimes in Mycroft’s looks as well, reminding Sherlock of the knowledge he’d rather throw out of his mind for ever. And Mycroft’s, for that matter.

“You’re thinking again,” he mumbled now, propping himself up on the edge of the pool, head rested on his forearms and wet curls sticking to his forehead. The last sunbeams evoked golden reflexes on the surface of warm water, slightly stirred from Sherlock’s movements. Mycroft was lying close enough to reach out and touch him yet the boy did not. “You’re always thinking about such grim things.”

#shercroft #mylock #holmescest #shercroft rp #mylock rp #holmescest rp #mycroft holmes #sherlock holmes #sherlock and mycroft #early 1900s #1914 #1900s #sherlock rp #sherlock bbc #alternate universe #homosexuality #first world war #rp anyone?#PLEASE message me

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lovinpeople · 10 years

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Things were different with Sherlock when he was still a child.

#sherlock bcc #mylock rp #shercroft rp #holmescest #holmescest rp #shercroft #mylock #sherlock #mycroft holmes #sherlock and mycroft #omegle rp

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green-grape-gaze · 11 years

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How Absurd

I absolutely adore jealous Sherlock and sneaky Mycroft. I also really like Toplock. I'm just odd though and you all know I love everything...

Stranger: You are being possessive, brother dear. MH (30)

You: Don't be idiotic, Mycroft. I am not being 'possessive.' -SH

Stranger: You snapped at Margaret today when I introduced her to you. You would have kicked her out immediately if you could. MH

You: [Delayed] She was being moronic. -SH

Stranger: I saw how you clenched your jaw every time she touched me. MH

You: Believe what ever you wish, Mycroft, but I was not jealous. -SH

Stranger: Of course. Just tensed up, irritated and had smoked three cigarettes already. MH

You: It was two. -SH

Stranger: Three. You're on your third. MH

You: Wrong again. -SH

Stranger: Of course I'm not. In both cases. MH

You: I'm not on my third cigarette, Mycroft. Do think on it just the bit harder. -SH

Stranger: Are you saying it's not a cigarette? MH

You: Getting slow, Mycroft. -SH

Stranger: Getting older and older, aren't I? MH

You: Obviously. -SH

Stranger: Then it perhaps also affects my brilliant mind. MH

You: Enjoy your time with Margaret. -SH I'm still uncertain as to how you could enjoy her pathetic drivel. -SH

Stranger: Possessive. You know I don't enjoy it the slightest bit. MH

You: I am not. Why would you bring her around then? -SH

Stranger: She's the best of all those idiots around me. And I need someone to play my goldfish. MH

You: [Delayed] Of course you do. Go on then, enjoy your fishbowl. -SH

Stranger: I much more prefer you, though. MH

You: I don't understand. -SH

Stranger: Getting slow, Sherlock? It's a rather obvious statement. You may stop being jealous of your place. MH

You: You let her touch you, you touched her back-you brought her home. -SH You never bring anyone over, Mycroft. -SH

Stranger: [delayed] It was just a show for parents. MH

You: [Delayed] And you didn't think to tell me? -SH Of course you didn't. -SH

Stranger: I would have never expected you to think that she matters for me in /any/ way. MH

You: You /touched/ her Mycroft. -SH

Stranger: I just wrapped my arm around her. MH

You: Yes, well, she touched you as well. -SH Take a shower. I won't go near you if you smell like her. -SH

Stranger: May I come after I take a shower? She will have been asleep by then. MH

You: Yes. -SH

Stranger: (Mind if I switch to paragraphs? :))

You: ((Not at all. Go right ahead, love <3))

Stranger: Mycroft felt as though somebody had just taken a load off his mind. He enjoyed those little signs of obvious envy that Sherlock was sending unconsciously but the thought that his brother could take that performance of his seriously was simply ridiculous. Before he went to the bathroom, he had smoked a cigarette outside, glad that he finally had some time only for himself, and checked carefully whether Margaret had really fallen asleep. It seemed so and a surge of excitement flew through Mycroft's body before he closed the door of his bedroom and headed towards Sherlock's bedroom in the end of the corridor, wooden floor slightly squeaking under his weight. He didn't bother knocking, just quietly opened the door and slid in.

You: Sherlock ignored the twitch of his fingers from the need to smoke again and tossed the pack cigarettes far away from himself. It hadn't been only two, but then it hadn't been only three, and another would certainly make him sick. Especially after he'd gone for something else just seconds later. Resisting the urge to pick at his lips with his teeth, Sherlock set to looking around his room for something to occupy his time, but then he heard the distressed creak of wood and stood immediately. He didn't give Mycroft the chance to take any further steps into his room-he pushed the man into his bedroom door and crushed their lips together. It was angry, desperate, and full of just possessive and raw emotion.

Stranger: The door almost slammed under Mycroft's weight when Sherlock shoved him against it and pressed his lips, tasting of smoke (cigarette and apparently also pot) and demanding as always, against his brother's. "Shit," Mycroft tried to say when he heard the noise they had made but only an incoherent word left his mouth between one and another kiss, his wrists suddenly gripped and pinned to the door by Sherlock's hands, his breath mingling with the other man's as he tilted his head and parted the lips and let Sherlock's tongue in. Mycroft didn't expect it, obviously, even after his today's observations, but then, he also couldn't complain. And if all the times he touched that woman were supposed to end like /this/, he couldn't any longer mind touching her either.

You: He was more than pleased at the reciprocation and the responses. He didn't care if it was just the bit too harsh or if Mycroft wanted to touch too. Sherlock would get his feel and remind the man just who held higher importance. After the male parted his lips, he sought the invasion with pointed nips and and licks. It was rough so very rough and demanding, but it was all Sherlock. And once the kiss ended, it didn't stop-not the touching, or the enforcement, not even the harsh breaths. He dropped his hand to the front of Mycroft's trousers and began to rub the male's cock through the fabric. "Have you ever thought about touching her sexually? About her mouth wrapped around your cock, your fingers in her hair? Would she worship your cock as well as I can? Or do you already know, Mycroft?"

disconnection...

#holmescest #shercroft #holmescest rp #mylock #mylock rp #sherlock rp

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green-grape-gaze · 11 years

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Longing for Proximity

I cannot tell you how mad I am that I lost this rp. This was person was just... Fantastic and amazing, and so many other words. We went on longer, but I was only to save this much before my computer went through the fizz. Thank God my Laptop is on its way home.

Stranger: Danger night, little brother? -MH (Post episode 2 of season 3.)

You: Working out again, Mycroft? -SH

Stranger: I was informed you left early. -MH

You: The cake was /delightful/. -SH

Stranger: [delayed] I've a bottle of that particular brandy you like if you'd care to stop by the townhouse. We'll discuss it. -MH

You: Send a car. -SH

Stranger: [delayed] Done. There in ten. Stay there on the corner of Abbott and Kingsley where you are. -MH

You: Very well. -SH

You: You seem rather eager, brother. Why? -SH

Stranger: Not eager. Concerned. -MH

You: Did you miss being just the two of us? -SH

You: Of course. -SH

Stranger: Like old times, mm? I suppose that's what happens when your goldfish goes swimming about on its own without your guidance. It meets.... other goldfish. -MH

You: Yes, well... I suppose it's time to find another goldfish then. -SH

Stranger: [delayed] I'm sorry, Sherlock. -MH

Stranger: It's what happens. They pair up and create little schools. It's painful. Especially when you're so attached to one. -MH

You: You speak as if you've experience in this matter. -SH

Stranger: Mm. Irrelevant. -MH

You: No. I wish to know. -SH

Stranger: It's not important. Honestly. I just mean that I sympathise is all. ...You loved him. Very much, in fact. Still love him. -MH

You: Yes. I did, but you were right. Caring is not an advantage. -SH

Stranger: Sometimes we can't help ourselves, I'm afraid. -MH

You: I assumed I had learned my lesson. I was wrong. -SH

Stranger: I'm in the study when you arrive, little brother. Your drink is waiting on you. -MH

You: I should be there soon, Mycroft. -SH

Stranger: I'll be waiting. -MH

You: Sherlock put his phone in his coat pocket and took a deep settling breath. It was only ten minutes after their last text that he arrived. He debated on simply going home, but then he wasn't in the mood to be alone. Stalking through the townhouse, the male removed his gloves and scarf, wrapping them together before placing them in his coat pocket. He draped the grand Belstaff coat over the stair railing, granting him easy access should he choose to make some escape. From there, the brunet reached the parlor, pushing the door open before closing it behind himself.

Stranger: Mycroft settled his mobile aside onto the sidetable, lips pursed as he picked up his tumbler and took a swallow of the amber liquid within that burned warmly down his throat. He should be avoiding it, actually, considering he /had/ been working out today. However, upon seeing his brother there on a street corner in view of a CCTV camera, he figured he could use it to settle his nerves. His hair was slightly damp and Mycroft Holmes was dressed down for once, wearing a pair of black slacks and grey socks and a simple, loose white button-up dress shirt. He was settled in a wingback chair near the fireplace that was lit and crackling softly. He knew it the moment Sherlock had arrived, considering he could see the garden out the window from where he sat and the headlights of the vehicle had streaked up the drive before the car itself. He turned his head when Sherlock pushed into the room, his coat missing, his scarf and gloves already removed, and still in a crisp black suit and tie from the wedding he'd skipped out on early. Probably for the same reason he ended up on the corner, considering before Mycroft had stepped in. Across from the elder Holmes brother another chair sat in expectation, the sidetable next to it bearing a tumbler of brandy from the sidebar. "Hullo, little brother," he said in that mild tone of his, taking in the fact that Sherlock had been smoking, taking in how /pale/ his brother was. "Come sit."

You: The sight of his brother so oddly relaxed unsettled Sherlock. Part of him felt as if he should rebel abut the offered comfort. It was certainly better than admitting that he was weak and /sentimental/. He felt as thought he were also the failure of the family. Mycroft, so smart and powerful; forever in control. It was surprising to know that the man had once had a 'goldfish.' Likely someone from un-someone Sherlock never had the chance to meet. It didn't stop the burn of curiosity or smugness. How disgusting to be happy to know his brother wasn't so untouchable after all. Cocking his head to the side, Sherlock let his cerulean gaze drop to the chair awaiting him. Stationed there for quite some time given the indents in the rug. He was certain that if he tipped it, the impression would fade before his eyes. Walking towards the seat, he looked to the tumbler waiting for him, spindly trembling fingers wrapping around the curved glass to lift and inspect. He turned it in his glass, feeling for warmth and temperature. Recently poured. Interesting. He downed it immediately after, not bothering to savor the flavor or burn. He despised alcohol. His drug was far worse, and that was what he was craving now. "Hello, Mycroft." He intoned dryly, displaying every and all signs that this certainly was a danger night. Perhaps the worst to come. "Did you have a lazy day today? And by lazy, I do mean that you haven't been working today. Not as much as you typically do on your day off. Special occasion?"

Stranger: Mycroft watched as Sherlock moved into the room, that effortless grace in full force as the younger Holmes moved toward the chair opposite Mycroft. The brandy glass was picked up, briefly inspected, and then downed in a single, thick swallow. Definitely a danger night. He had to pick and choose his words carefully, handle his brother with kid gloves. He didn't want to push him back out onto that street corner and /actually/ searching for drugs rather than just /contemplating/ searching for drugs. Mycroft's hair was still damp from the shower he'd taken after finishing with the treadmill. In fact, he'd been in the process of drying it when he caught sight of his little brother on the streets, looking moody and sullen. Mycroft gave a tight, curt smile. "I had thought to be somewhere then decided against it," he said with a slight shrug. He brought his tumbler to his lips and took a brief swallow before he settled it down and pushed to sock-clad feet. Sherlock was still standing and Mycroft had not missed the way those slender, pale fingers had trembled when he'd picked up the tumbler. Mycroft moved forward and collected the empty glass from his brother before he strolled over to the sidebar. He settled the cup down, raking a hand through his hair as he pulled the glass stopper from the decanter holding the brandy. He poured another half a glass before placing the stopper back in place. He picked up the tumbler and returned to the fireplace, giving the glass to Sherlock, hoping that it would soothe his younger brother's nerves. "Sit, Sherlock," he murmured even as he, himself, settled back into his chair. "Please. Sit and tell me. You're pale. There's a tremor in your fingers. You were considering getting high. ...What happened at the wedding?"

You: Treated as if he were some delicate porcelain doll. How utterly dreadful. Sherlock watched the way Mycroft morphed from casual to compliant. Or rather something more? He couldn't quite find the word for it and he simply didn't care. His brother was trying not to set him off, which was already bothering him. He attempted to imagine how conversing with his brother might be while high, but the idea served to irritate him further. He could taste the disappointment as if he were the one experiencing. Perhaps he was? If he were high, he wouldn't be Sherlock Holmes. He would be someone else entirely and the thought scorched through him. No one would care who he was; back to being alone again. At least he'd be higher than a kite. "You decided against it due to the fact that you chose to check in on me. Or perhaps one of your men was at the wedding spying for you? I wouldn't be surprised. You do so /love/ having your eyes everywhere." He snarked, ignoring the way his brother handled the glass from him upon approaching. He debated on dropping it before the man's fingers could touch it, just to spite him. There was so much rage within and he needed an outlet. Mycroft would let the glass fall and stand there. He'd likely sigh, say something that would put Sherlock indignantly in his place, and clean it up. Or order him to do it, to which the detective would leave. Engrossed in his thoughts, the male didn't notice his brother return to the decanter for more of the murky liquid. He didn't want it, but then he couldn't have what he did want. His fingers itched for it, as if he hadn't been clean for so long. As if he was hooked to the drug yet again. Letting his fingers curl into his palm, he dug his nails into his skin and turned his back to the tumbler to search through the books lingering on the built in cases. "I'm not going to play this little game with you Mycroft... 'How do we ensure Sherlock doesn't go out to the corner?' Wouldn't do good for you junkie of a brother to get high again, hmn? He'd likely kill himself, and I would. I would indulge myself deeply and without a care. It would be so easy..." He spoke, giving a dramatic roll of his eyes. "Yet I'm too self important. I quite like what I've set up and returning after so long... I'd like to settle back in before I do something so down right /moronic/." The man continued, giving a curt turn to face Mycroft with a sardonic smile. He was oh-so bitter and it was oh-so obvious. "I lost a goldfish tonight. Well, I lost two. Perhaps three. It seems as though everyone is moving on but myself. It's rather pitiful, these /emotions/. So much easier to ignore them while I'm high."

Stranger: Sherlock didn't down the second glass. In fact, he settled it onto the sidetable and turned away, searching through the books there in their shelves as if they were hiding something in particular. He knew this was coming. He knew his brother was far too involved with John Watson. Far too attached. So he'd made preparations. If it was going to happen, he was going to supervise. He knew that the wedding day would lead to a danger night, he just didn't understand why it had happened so-- oh... Oh. Three? The wife. Mary, yes? She was pregnant. John Watson was going to have a family. A little goldfish school. No /wonder/ Sherlock had left so early. Christ... So soon? Sherlock had scarcely had time to adjust to the fact that the man he loved would never return /those/ kind of feelings. Which made Sherlock's little goldfish far stupider than most, in Mycroft's opinion. His beautiful, brilliant little brother... He should he cherished. Worshiped. Mycroft had long buried the fact that he was in love with Sherlock. He'd long come to terms with his own addiction. When Sherlock spoke of killing himself, Mycroft felt a hard, painful tug in the area of his chest. He stared back with his own gun-metal-blue eyes as Sherlock continued to smirk at him in that acidic way. Mycroft reached over and picked up his own tumbler and downed the contents in two thick swallows. He reached his free hand up, wiping away the dampness from the corners of his lips as he settled the now empty tumbler back onto the sidetable and sat forward in his chair, his hands going to the armrests of the seat. He raised a single, slender eyebrow at his brother, tilting his head some. "And is that what you want, Sherlock? To be able to ignore them? To bury them? ...What helps with that? The cocaine or the heroin?"

You: "Both. More so the overdose. Have you ever died before Mycroft?" He inquired, turning around to face the wall of books. "It's horrifying and beautiful. You'd think someone would realize life is beautiful after going without, but it's not so... When you return, everything is the same. Nothing has changed except for the fact that you died. As well as the awareness your death brings. People you thought loathed you suddenly love you." He mused, the words not meant to sound just as eerie as they came out. It was depressing, enraging, irritating, sad, happy-it was pathetic. So many emotions eating him alive. He was cruel one moment, bitter the next, and preaching to the beauty of the world. It was as if he couldn't decide which emotion to entertain in the whirlwind that were his thoughts. "It doesn't change how lonely you are though. It never does. You could stand in a room of three to thirteen people and you'd still be easily forgotten. Still feel that you're unimportant... That is where the drug gets you, because then you forget. For that moment, you're important... It takes care of you in ways you would never imagine." He laughed, fingers twitching as they uncurled. He reached for a book, stopping them from fidgeting. "You forget and you can /breathe/. Your mind settled and you can focus. It's beautiful. You know you're dying, but you lie to yourself. Your body tells you; you become ill and desperate for more. Desperate because it makes you feel on top of the world and it's so much better than where you are in reality." He finished, skimming over the page he opened to for twenty three seconds before closing it. "What I want Mycroft is something I could never touch again. What I want has been given away to someone more deserving. I've lost my little school of fish... I didn't realize I had one until it was too late. Now I've no choice and I would like to forget that." He hummed, though the cruel exuberance he had spoken with earlier was gone. His voice was childish now; soft, broken, /lonely/. "You may consider this a danger night, Mycroft, and you are right... But every night from now until I lose the bitter paralytic known as love for John Watson will be a danger night. I'll relapse. Perhaps not tonight, but one day."

disconnection (which I'm so disappointed about)...

#holmescest #mylock #mylock rp #holmescest rp #omegle rp #sherlock rp

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green-grape-gaze · 11 years

Text

Never Leave My Sight

Thank you, stranger! I adore Holmescest; it's one of many guilty pleasures.

You: Open the door. -SH

Stranger: I don't even get the magic word? MH

You: Mycroft. I can hardly breathe and I need to lay down. -SH

You: Open the door. -SH

Stranger: Alright, hold on. MH

Stranger: I'm in my office. M

You: Do hurry. It's rather cold out. -SH

Stranger: Mycroft rolled his eyes and walked down the stairs, opening the door and reaching out to Sherlock, he was a pain, be he looked near death. "Sherlock... gods, let's get you into a bed."

You: Sherlock sucked in a deep breath when the door was finally opened, his hands extending to Mycroft for something to hold onto. He fell forward into the older Holmes, eyes falling shut. "I need a bath first. I'm still bloody."

Stranger: Mycroft held him close and looked him over. "A bath can wait, sheets can clean... please, you need to lay down and I need to see if you broke anything."

You: Sherlock waved him off and took in a shaky breath. "Two cracked, or broken... Likely fracture wrist and sprained ankle." He answered, trying to move deeper into the townhouse. "Bath."

Stranger: Mycroft sighed. "Fine... but after your bath you're getting tea and going straight to bed. /I/ Meanwhile have to make you dead. Every brother's dream."

You: Giving a hiss at a sudden twinge, Sherlock pushed onwards to get up the stairs. "I had to do it, Mycroft. There was no choice, and you owe me. Do not think it is a secret as to how Moriarty collected all that information. I know how much you ran your mouth off."

Stranger: Mycroft glared and sighed. "I am sorry... What else was I to do? I didn't know his plan was to kill you."

You: Sherlock just merely shook his head, using the railing and Mycroft to get up the stairs. "Bath. And some food, please. That's all."

Stranger: Mycroft sighed. "I'm going to get you in to a bed, if I have to tie you down I will."

You: "You wouldn't." He shot back, eyebrows drawing together in a tense scowl.

Stranger: Mycroft raised his brow. "Do not challange me little brother. I will."

You: "As if you truly would do it. How would you tie me up without stressing any wounds?" He bit out, finally making it to the bedroom.

Stranger: Mycroft looked to him and gripped his wrist. "Do you really think I worry about straining you?"

You: The grip tore a cry of surprise from Sherlock and then a expletive. He tried to pull the wrist free, whole body sagging against the nearest wall.

Stranger: Mycroft stared at him. "A bath nd then bed. Do you understand?"

You: "Yes. Now /let go/." He hissed, body shaking lightly as the pain wracked through him.

Stranger: Mycroft did and pointed to the bathroom. "I'll be out here... so go take you bloody bath."

You: "I'll need clothes brother." Sherlock snarked before he turned around and locked himself in the bathroom. He started the bath and began to undress slowly.

Stranger: Mycroft huffed, collected some clothes and sat them neatly by the door, sitting on the bed outside the bathroom, he only want Sherlock to be alright.

You: Sherlock soaked in the bath, only getting out when he was clean, which was an hour and a half later. Wrapping himself in towels, he took the clothes, changed quickly before attempting to creep away down stairs.

Stranger: Mycroft looked up frown where he was reading the paper. "Where do you think you're going?"

You: "Out." He answered on a hiss, not bothering to stop. He guarded his wrist well, pushing the ache of his ankle away.

Stranger: Mycroft set his things down walking over and grabbing him up by the waist. "No, you're not."

You: Sherlock wiggled and squirmed, trying to detach himself from the other. "Stop! Set me down this inst-" Pressing against his rib, he immediately conceded. "Can't breathe. Mycroft. Down. Set me down."

Stranger: Mycroft set him down and glared at him. "Upstairs... now."

You: He merely nodded, trying to regain his breath. It took him several minutes before he finally began to move upstairs.

Stranger: Mycroft followed close, supporting his waist. "I'm sorry I hurt you... but you can't go out right now... you'll be seen and then you and they will all be dead." He sighed and kissed Sherlock's temple. "I will not see you dead Sher."

You: Sherlock didn't respond, just let Mycroft guide him upstairs to the bedroom. He wouldn't admit it, but he was more than pleased to sleep just a bit. His whole body ached.

Stranger: Mycroft got him into his bed, looking at him and brushing his curls. "Can I trust you to stay here, or do I have to handcuff you?" He smiled and chuckled. "Like when you were six, and remember I lose the key?"

You: Looking over at Mycroft, Sherlock licked his lips and debated on his plan. He could sleep for a few hours and then leave. He couldn't stay. Not for long. "I'll stay." He replied, tugging the blankets up with his good hand.

Stranger: Mycroft nodded, he sighed and sat next to the bed. "Do you remember any of the times we had Sherlock? We used to be so close..." He sighed and stood, walking to the door. "And now you're dead."

You: Sherlock winced at the remark of being dead, but said nothing. He just leaned into the bed and closed his eyes, settling into the sheets. "Good night, Mycroft." He finally spoke, turning his back to his brother.

Stranger: Mycroft left the room, closing the door and locking it behind him him, lockking Sherlock inside. "Goodnight baby brother."

You: Sherlock heard the click and moved to sit up only to wince and lay back down. It was fine. It wasn't as if he couldn't pick the lock or get out through the window. He knew the place well.

Stranger: Mycroft had guards and wires set everywhere, he was readily prepared for any stunt Sherlock played him, he needed Sherlock to be okay... He needed him to be, he loved his baby brother so much and it hurt him to even think about his death.

You: It didn't take long for Sherlock to finally fall asleep. He was entirely unknowing to his brother's complete security of the room and surrounding areas. His plan didn't really work. Not with how much pain his body was going through, but six hours later, the brunette finally woke up, his whole body stiff.

Stranger: Mycroft was in his office, watching the camera set up in Sherlock's room and sighing, he poured himself another drink and got it down, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.

You: Sherlock stretched his limbs out before heading towards the window, attempting to open it. He was already formulating a plan to get out.

Stranger: A beep went off and Mycroft looked up and sighed, he got up from his chair, making his way to Sherlock's room slowly, and knocked on the door. "Don't even think about it."

You: "Let me out." He growled, looking towards the door. "You cannot keep my here, Mycroft. I am an adult. I am well into my thirties. Release me,"

Stranger: Mycroft unlocked the door and walked in. "You need your rest, you fell from a building. I'm not going to continue to risk your life. If you try and escape me I will lock you up in the basement..."

You: Sherlock stared at Mycroft as he'd gone bloody mad. The man certainly had given the way he was trying to keep him in. "You will do no such thing, Mycroft! I am an adult and I need to get back out there! Moriarty's web will not dissipate on its own. Let. Me. Go."

put on hold...

#mylock #holmescest #mylock rp #omegle rp #shermegle

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