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Sins of the Fathers - Chapter 12

They say nothing good comes easy for a reason.

Sebastian has his name. He is once again heir to the home and land of Omera.

And as hard as reclaiming his name was, it doesn't compare to what comes next…

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“Anthea?”  Mycroft looked up from his laptop as she and Mycroft worked in the Diogenes office one afternoon.

He felt Anthea’s eyes narrowed on him. He knew it was unlike him to leave a questioning intro open without the immediate follow-up question or statement. But something had surprised him enough that his lips had momentarily pursed.

“Yes?” She asked curiously, after a beat of silence.

“One moment.” Mycroft went to a bookshelf and scanned a row. Finding what he wanted, he carefully removed the antiquarian book from the shelf, opened it, and confirmed what he knew was correct.

“Is that the first edition?” Anthea looked up, surprised he had brought the old book and a newer edition.

Mycroft did not even try to hide his blatant befuddlement as he came back to his desk, turned his laptop around for her to see, and pointed to a highlighted section at the very bottom of an email. “What do you make of this?”

“Does he harbor for friendship silent and endless? Harbor his anguish and passion?”

“Oh, new one?” she smiled.

The smile left her face under the razor-sharp focus that suddenly zeroed in on her.

“A NEW one?” Mycroft said slowly and carefully.

“I thought you knew?” Anthea blinked at his genuine surprise, then grinned. “I see how this is going to go.”

“Pardon?” a brow raised at the mischievous glint in his assistant’s eyes.

“You have the book and know the source of that email, but you’ve missed several.” Her fingers flew across her keyboard as she searched and brought up other emails and showed them to him in date order.

Mycroft began to read.

“Not the heat flames up and consumes”

The first was written and added to the bottom of an email during the joint operation with NSY. Mycroft saw the date and knew what brought this secret messaging about.

After he had asked Gregory for clarification related to an earlier discussion, a reply came, but it was blank, so he asked again. As he waited for a response, he saw that Lestrade had, in fact, answered at the bottom of the chain, but he had missed it. Lestrade had replied again before Mycroft could tell him not to bother. All subsequent emails were properly responded to at the top as expected; Mycroft did not need to read to the very end.

And the sneaky yet clever man was counting on it. Bravo.

“When pensive, away from the one he loved, often lay sleepless and dissatisfied at night”

“Without any companion it grew there, glistening out with joyous leaves of dark green”

The quotes were hidden at the bottom in an email days after, but Mycroft knew it was in response to one of their dinners. It was after an excellent dinner full of laughter and lively conversation. He had gone home and taken himself in hand that night, dissatisfied that he could not have the man there.

The intelligent and incredibly patient copper who somehow bore through the glacial walls that Mycroft surrounded himself with, and brought peace and light in with him. Mycroft's understanding of Gregory was one thing; that’s who he was, but the revelation that Gregory had begun to understand him was mind-blowing. Long gone were the days when they could not bear to be in each other’s company. Or the pretense that their meetings had anything to do with updates on Sherlock. That is when a true friendship began between them.

That Mycroft wanted more than friendship was a closely guarded secret. One that Mycroft kept very close to the heart, which has beat for Gregory for over a year. He suspected Anthea knew, but had given him the courtesy of saying nothing.

Mycroft Holmes knew who he was. He was a cold, pragmatic man, methodical, willing to make the hard decisions others could not when necessary. He was not one given to the whims of his emotions. “Caring is not an advantage” was practically a mantra.

And yet, Mycroft Holmes could not deny he was in love with Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade.

And as far as he was concerned, warm, giving, down-to-earth men like Gregory Lestrade did not desire prim, cold fish men like Mycroft Holmes.

Yet the passages before him indicated otherwise.

“It is not needed to remind me of my friends, (for I believe lately I think of little else than of them)”

Mycroft mentally smiled, knowing it was written after they had exchanged Christmas gifts—each had given the other cufflinks. He had given Gregory umbrella cufflinks, and he was gifted handcuff cufflinks.

Oh, the pleased smile on Gregory’s face when he walked into 221b a few days later and saw that I wore the links. A moment made more special because neither knew the other would be there. Alas, he did not get to see my pleasure in seeing the umbrellas flash at his wrist during a press conference.

Mycroft read more:

“And its look, rude, unbending, lusting, made me think of myself” “Or when my plans were accomplished—it was well enough—Still I was not happy”

Both were after last-minute cancelled plans, the former by Mycroft, the latter by Gregory.

And if Mycroft had ANY doubts that the quotes were about him, they were quelled with the next.

“It seems to me I can look over and behold them, in Germany, France, Spain—Or far away in China, or in Russia—talking other dialects”

Those were just a few of the languages Gregory has heard him speak.

“When dreading lest the one he loved be indifferent to him, felt the sick feeling—O sick! sick!” “Sullen and suffering hours—(I am ashamed—but it is useless—I am who I am)”

Oh, that was after Valentine’s Day.

Mycroft had gone on a typical for him mini-rant on the overwrought sentimentality of the holiday. He could understand that quote as a response.  

He reached the latest response again.

“Does he harbor for friendship silent and endless? Harbor his anguish and passion?”

Mycroft blinked in surprise. He knew it related to their last dinner five days ago. They were on their way to the sedan after dinner. Gregory had nearly stumbled over a crack in the car lot pavement. Mycroft instinctively grabbed Gregory’s arm before he could fall. It was the first time he had ever touched the man, or Gregory touched him, other than the passing of condiments or handshakes.

We both stared at each other. He also grasped me for a moment before he regained balance. The dual contact caught us both unguarded. Did he see it then? See me, my feelings, just for a moment, before decorum reared its head, and he thanked me and let go?

The hidden quotes had only appeared with responses directly to him, never on a Reply All.

There is no mistaking that these were meant for me and me alone.

And the meaning of them slammed into him like a blow.

He… Gregory… He feels the same for me?  For me. FOR ME?

“Why didn’t he say anything?” Mycroft asked, completely taken aback.

He knew Anthea was aware it was asked rhetorically, but responded anyway. “Oh, but he did the only way he knew how, without being rejected as he quoted...”

I would not have, but he wouldn’t know that, would he?

“You didn’t tell him to stop, sir… so he rightfully presumed he was getting away with it and continued.” Anthea pointed out, “He is clearly unaware that I often vet your work emails. Or he would never risk that, and as I said, I thought you knew…”

Mycroft quickly reread the quotes.

Gregory knows Walter Whitman Jr. is one of my favorites. Of course, he would choose his vintage text for inspiration.

He looked up at Anthea, patiently waiting for the command.

“As I said: I see how this is going to go.” A grinning Anthea rose, taking her laptop from Mycroft.

“Smug is not a good look on you, woman.”

“Yes, it is, sir.” She waved her fingers playfully as she left, closing the door. “See you overmorrow.”

Mycroft leaned back in thought. His fingers lovingly caressed the words on the page. A part of him chastised himself for not having donned gloves, but the excitement of the moment overrode the fact that he handled a book worth nearly a quarter-million pounds.  

And really, a moment like this practically requires the sensualness of direct touch. I think Whitman would have agreed.

Mycroft enjoyed the feel of the gilt edging and the wonderful scent of old dusty libraries that only such vintage books can have. His fingers gently ran over the worn green cover with its gilt fancy border, which was yet in surprisingly good condition for a book that was 150 years old.  He remembered how proud he felt being able to get his hands on a first edition of a book that meant so much to him as he was coming of age.  And much later, a different edition of the author’s work.

It feels oddly right that these would be the books that are a part of this moment in my life.

And a soft smile at the thought of making some of the words come true began to form.

I see how this is going to go…

“But first, how shall I respond?”

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Oh my goodness! Yes! I have the comics, and this art is fantastic!

Watson and Holmes investigate the case of the Sussex, NJ Vampire

a holmestice gift for @vulgarweed

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The Dread

“Okay, she’s finally asleep.”

John Watson-Holmes tiredly came down the stairs.

“How she’s doing?” Greg Lestrade-Holmes passed him a bottle of beer.

“Ta,” John accepted it gratefully and sat. “As well as can be expected. The first heartbreak is always the worst.”

Greg and John were out for a pint when John received a call from Candice, Rosie Watson-Holmes’ best friend. Father and uncle arrived at a teen birthday party to pick up a distraught Rosie, whose infamous Watson temper was on full display when she blackened the eye of one Warren Kent. Warren, who was discovered in flagrante delicto with the birthday girl without first informing his girlfriend, Rosie, that he wanted to break up first.

“It could have been worse.” Greg shrugged.

“My daughter just spent the last hour bawling her eyes out – how?” John looked at him incredulously.

“If Candice had dialed Sherlock,” Greg answered, “and you know what’s worse than that…?”

John could not deny that Greg was right. It was going to be tough enough convincing his husband not to extract some form of vengeance against the boy for hurting their not-so-little girl.

The two men looked at each other in dread of realizing what would be worse for Warren than when Sherlock finds out…

Or rather, who…

John groaned.

“Yep, Mycroft, my husband, your brother-in-law.”

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@flashfictionfridayofficial

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Sins - Chapter 10 - Seen The Beast I Call My Father

Sebastian learned growing up that a Moran alpha did not beg. He could always ask. And if denied, he worked to achieve his objective another way or did without.

But. An. Alpha. Of. House. Moran. Did. Not. Beg. For. Anything.

Over twenty years have passed since Sebastian Moran walked out the door of his childhood home, Omera, the ancestral home of the Moran family, and he did not look back.

Given the circumstances of his leaving, short of the death of his mother or sister, where they could not deny him being there, Sebastian had thought there was nothing that would make him return.

Or beg.

Until today.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65582278/chapters/171932713

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The Wager

“Oh, surely you jest.” Sherlock’s tired voice gave every indication of just how little he thought of the supposed jest.

“You know that I’m not.” Mycroft closed his laptop.

“I cannot.” He shook his head.

“Incorrect, you will not. You know I know the difference with you.”

“Such a thing, as I think I have explained to you many times before…” Sherlock looked up, fully prepared to enumerate the oh so many reasons why what was being asked of him was not feasible.

One perfectly arched brow silently informed him of the breath he’d waste should he continue.

“Sherlock Holmes, you are stalling. Would you like privacy?” 

“If you would not mind?”

“Too bad.” A finger pointed emphatically at the phone, “Make the bloody call!”

“And they all say you’re heartless,” Sherlock grumbled. “I cannot imagine why.”

“I know what they all say,” Mycroft's amused voice chuckled, “And heatless is by far the nicest.”

“You are cruel to make me do this…”

“THAT they all have said as well. And much more – I imagine. I’m waiting…”

With a huff, Sherlock speed-dialed a number without looking.

“What do you want, Sherlock? I’m kinda busy here…” A familiar gravelly voice answered.

“Good, no time to elaborate. A wager was lost, and the cost of the wager is an admission to one's feelings for another.” Sherlock looked up and grinned evilly as he spoke quickly. “My brother is in love with you, Lestrade, but has not to bollocks to so say.”

“Sherlock!” Mycroft bellowed.

“The wager, in your exact words – Brother mine, was, ‘One must admit to the love you know is there.’ And now I have.” Sherlock smirked at his brother’s glare.

Several swear words from a different yet equally familiar voice were heard before Greg spoke again, “Oh, like you don’t have the bollocks to tell John how in love you are with him as he is with you?”

“Lestrade!” / “You know?! He is?!”

It was Sherlock’s turn to bellow as John Watson’s shocked voice was heard loud and clear through the phone.

“Payback, Sherlock. Shoe doesn’t feel as nice on the other foot, huh?” Lestrade said smoothly, “Now, take it off and hand it to the heart you know is mine, you bellend.”

“Excuse me?” Sherlock stared at his phone, blinking rapidly.

Mycroft held out his hand. “Take it off speaker and give it to me.”

“Gregory…” Mycroft sighed in gentle exasperation. “Apologies…”

“Not exactly how we intended to break it to them that we’re together, I know.” Greg chuckled, “I’m giving the phone to John here so he can speak to His Nibs before he completely melts down. See you at Diogenes later?”

“Yes, I believe there’s still a wingback left for us to christian.” Mycroft stood to leave, not bothering to hide his schadenfreude, knowing Sherlock would get the subtext as he handed the phone back to his brother. “It’s for you. Gregory and I are fine. What was it you said to me at Buckingham Palace? Laterz.”

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Sins C7: We Got Some Issues That We Need To Solve

Alpha Saoirse O’Reilly would normally not blow past all of Jim Moriarty's people like that. She did not like having to push her Alpha presence in his office, where ‘Moriarty' was the top dog. Also, she would typically check to ensure she wasn't disrupting anything of import.

But Jim had been actively avoiding her. 

And that was never a good sign. So, she'd had to start asking people.

That was when she realized the others in the Top Tiers were also actively avoiding her. 

Jim avoiding her when something was wrong was one thing. Usually, that meant he had reverted to the rather childish attitude of 'if I can fix it before they catch on...' everything would be alright - specifically, no one would ever know. Mind, he was one of the few people smart enough, sneaky enough, and determined enough to make that work, but it was still a bad habit of his.

And once she realized that Rohaan and Franklyn were also avoiding her?

Oh, she knew for certain then her favorite little fucker of an omega had gotten himself not just in trouble, but * Real Trouble TM*.

Not one of his lower-tier people knew what was going on. That was partially expected. If SHE didn't know, they sure as hell would not, but sometimes, enough of a rumor trickled down.

Unfortunately, this was not one of those times.

Speaking casually with some of the lower tiers gave her just enough to realize she had to skip the middle tiers and go straight to the second-tier people in the office. They were Jim’s second-tier people for a reason. It would not be easy to get information out of them, but they would know if something might be out of sorts, even if they did not know precisely what. 

It pissed her off to be forced to do so, but needs must.

She started using the tricks that everyone kept forgetting about, namely putting aside her 'Alpha' and being sweet as sugar: asking if any personnel changes had happened lately, unusual travel, and all of that...

Sure enough: Jim had thrown out one of his usual fuck toys in really bad condition, and the sniper- Moran- had been thrown to the wolves (or, in this case, thrown to Jim). They had spent a suspiciously long time together, which sounded like trouble right there, and everything went topsy-turvy from there ? Somehow Moran was in the doghouse and was being sent away on multiple, honestly bullshit missions. Missions that any of the lesser tier snipers could have handled instead of sending his best personal guard away.

Saoirse thought about it and looked at the timing... If Jim had not liked the man's attitude in bed, he would have killed him... but he locked himself in… ... with an Alpha...? For THREE days?

Oh, fucking hell - he had an unplanned Heat?  And locked hisself in with an Alpha? The poor lad likely had no clue! And for that long?

James Moriarty planned his natural heats to avoid exactly this scenario. He planned them with the only alpha he trusted not to take advantage of him - namely, her. She started feeling sorry for Jim and then froze…

The only reason he'd be acting like a damn idiot after would be if… No… But why wouldn’t he…?

It was at the point of being insulting. After nearly a month of avoidance, Jim left her no choice but to show her alpha.

Someone must have tipped off Franklyn or Rohaan that she had entered the building. If Jim was in his office, one or the other, if not both, was always in their respective offices. They had to be hiding somewhere, leaving security and the second tier to deal with her, which made it obvious both had been expecting this showdown with Jim sooner or later and were trying to delay it.

And with that, the sugar sweet was gone.

Now she was MAD.

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Sins: How Cold Is A Heart When It's Warmth That He Seeks?

It's an odd detente between the alpha and the omega, as the two work well together while simultaneously not dealing very well with each other and the ticking time bomb.

"Sins of the Fathers" Chapter 6 is up!

https://archiveofourown.org/.../65582278/chapters/170525506

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In "Maurice," Merchant/Ivory told a heartfelt tale of love and passion between two people who happened to be men at a time when it was dangerous to talk about, let alone be. Then, in a world that mostly vilified such love (in the time period of the tale, and the modern world watching it unfold in cinemas), they had the audacity to give them something of a happy ending.

As Alec Scudder, Rupert Graves brought heart and soul to a character who knew who he was and what he wanted and was willing to give up everything for it. He did it without fanfare but with a quiet passion that screamed, "There is nothing wrong in this," nonetheless.

And in the process, became a cultural icon for many.

!! HAPPY PRIDE !!

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It's June 1st, it's now my law to reblog!

Happy Pride!

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Ready To Go

Greg loves his job, he does. Slapping cuffs on a criminal’s wrists, reading them their rights, putting them away.

Granted, there are times when what he’d really like to slap is a baton to some heads.

And Mycroft -god curse and bless him, always manages to suggest a weekend away just in time to save his sanity and job.

After a grueling few months for both, Greg was the one to suggest the weekend away this time.

But the holiday weekend was over, morning had arrived, and it was time to catch their flight back to London.

“Ready, love?”

A rejuvenated Greg exited the bath, showered, dressed, and ready to leave.

And Mycroft…

…was not.

Greg blinked rapidly.

He was not seeing this.

He then blinked slowly to change his perspective because, yes, that was going to make a difference.

It did not.

With a mug of coffee in hand, while sat on a stool, his unholy long legs crossed, Mycroft Holmes wore sports socks…

…and not a damned thing else.

The man was fully suited when Greg entered the bath minutes ago.

“You… You are kidding – right?”

Mycroft looked up at his husband, as though completely dumbfounded at why he was dressed.

“I mean, we could make the flight if you insist…”

Greg, already beginning to strip, laughed, “Don’t bother.”

Mark Gatiss Wearing Socks by Johnathan Shekon Chan ----------------------------------------------------------------------

@mystradepromptsandscenarios

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Brilliantly done!

Ransom - rated T, ~3000 words

Sherlock has a case.

That's all he has, in fact -- an empty case where his violin should be. John's not there to help. His only lead is a string of text messages.

And someone knows far, far too much about the domestic life of Baker Street.

Sherlock groaned and looked up the number of the surgery.

“No, Doctor Watson left early.” Sherlock sagged with relief; any minute, John would be pounding up the stairs. “If this is an emergency –-”

“No, it isn’t.” Not that kind, anyway. “I’m his… flatmate, I just –”

“Oh. Oh, you’re -”

“Yes. Yes I am. Sherlock Holmes. If you can –”

“I’m actually talking to Sherlock Holmes –”

 “That is me. Established that.”

“Is this a case ?” The squealy uplift on the last word physically hurt.

“It might be. If you could tell me exactly when he –”

“Oh, I couldn’t say, it’s been busy. He might be stuck in the Tube, it was slow this morning.” The image of John stuck in an actual tube, like a stack of Pringles, came absurdly to mind. then vanished as his phone finally pinged.

“That’ll be him,” he said to Squealy. “Sorry to bother.”

It wasn’t John.

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Tagging my past Johnlock readers in the replies! Lmk if want to be tagged or untagged.

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Sins Chapter 5: Of Walking On The Mines I'd Laid

As his car pulled up to the curb, Jim saw the tall Alpha first and quickly sprayed himself with more scent-neutralizer.

Don’t stay long. Don’t stand too close. Don’t let him smell ME!

Jim nervously spritzed himself - again. 

-That much neutralizer? He’ll think you’re scared of him, Jimmy.–  Better he think I’m scared than know the truth, fuck him. -That’s how you got in this mess.-

Jim donned his ombre sunglasses as he stepped out of the sedan.

Jim’s lips curled at the female passerby, so busy giving him elevator eyes she nearly stumbled. Her face flamed as she hurried along when Jim lowered the shades to wink. He knew he looked good, but the unexpected ego boost was nice.

Being this bad shouldn’t look this good. -Can’t argue that.-

"Ramsey, don’t leave to circle round; this will not take long," Jim ordered his driver, then looked to one of his secondary bodyguards when Sebastian was out on jobs. "Henrik, I know you see him; keep him in sight. And if I signal - shoot him. Not tranqs."

Security instructions with this alpha before had always been to take him down, if necessary, but never out.

Henrik nodded once. "Yes, sir." 

If Henrik was in any way surprised by the changed order, he wisely did not show it. That was good .

Stood near a cafe wall as he watched the world passed, to the casual eye, the familiar figure Jim has known intimately looked bored. But Jim knew the man well; he saw the tenseness in his stance and the nervousness as he checked the time on his pocket watch.

The cafe was one of the very few places that made Irish Apple Cake consistently delicious. In his arbitrary mind Thursdays were the best days and he always has someone there to buy a cake if he did not come himself. 

Jim knew there was no reason for the alpha to be where he was except for the chance to see him. 

Memory flashed in Jim’s mind…

Jim’s horror and disbelief at what the alpha was about to do. The alpha’s slow release as he realized what he nearly did.  Jim snatched his wrist from the alpha’s grasp and quickly backed away, but not far.  He'd be DAMNED if he would run from the bastard. He would NEVER give him the satisfaction of seeing how much he was terrified. Jim turned to walk away, but he saw the alpha move peripherally, a hand that too quickly reached out to stop him, and Jim reacted. “RED!”  Jim screamed in his face. His fist, which had made a solid connection that rocked the alpha, drew back even as a blade appeared in his other hand, ready to strike. He knew the alpha’s immediate reaction had nothing to do with the physical punch or the threat of the blade. Both knew that Jim could quickly, if not easily, be divested of his weapon if the alpha wanted it. In physically striking him, Jim now faced him fully, any attempt to hide his rage, his hurt, gone.   No. The way the alpha recoiled from Jim as though he had been severely burned was all about that single word Jim screamed. I don’t need a stinking safeword with you, Alpha. I trust that you will never give me cause to use it.  Jim snarled bitterly within himself as the memory of those words surfaced. He was wrong - trust was broken - cause had been given. “Red,” Jim said again, but this time in a watery whisper. He would not run, but his emotions were getting the best of him. He needed to leave. NOW.  He turned again and headed for the door. This time, he made it out.

That was nearly three weeks ago.

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Sins of the Fathers - Chapter 4: I Look Around But It’s You I Can’t Replace

Sebastian lay under the tarp to protect himself and his favored McMillan Tac-50 rifle from the light rain, his crosshairs on the dark room his mark should be stumbling into soon enough. He was a mile and a half away, making a hit in the space of a literal one-foot gap past three staggered skyscrapers in line of view. He could have chosen at least six easier spots from that similar angle. He was counting on at least four of them being searched first. This was such a tight, near-impossible shot that Sebastian was sure no one would think of here. 

But that’s my job, to think of and take the shots; no one else would. At least I still have a job, right?  

Sebastian does not want to think about how relieved he was when Rohaan handed him new assignments. It was no coincidence that ALL of the targets were out of the country, where he would be gone for at least three or more days each. Sebastian hasn’t seen or spoken to Jim -keep it professional, Seb, he’s Moriarty- since he left the office that morning…

It was not anything that could be called… unusual… honestly. He can go a couple of weeks without seeing Moriarty when he’s on assignment. Still, with this new - whatever this was - between them, it was - weird. 

Was Moriarty... upset? Did I do something wrong? Sebastian eventually decided it was likely more to do with whoever and whatever had upset the man, to begin with… 

Moriarty had not let the second tiers like himself, Jessop, and Dunbar, who was back on light duty, know he was Omega. Dunbar and Jessop had razzed him a bit, thanking him for taking one for the team, but that was par the course, considering they all knew what generally happened to Moriarty’s playmates. They still did not know and he damn sure was not going to say anything to anyone.

After all - he knew NOTHING - and he was standing by that. 

Sebastian smiled as he rechecked the wind settings and looked through the scope. 

Ah! Right on time…

This was always the sweet part - those final seconds just before.

The rifle butt secured into his shoulder.

The left hand supported the barrel.

The right hand is on the grip, and the index finger is rested alongside but not entirely on the trigger.

He automatically slowed his breathing as he watched his mark enter the salon. The window was open. He can all but hear the man thinking -did I leave the window open?- No, you didn’t. Now go check the other like a good boy, please ... The inebriated mark nearly walked into a wall as he entered the other room and… Really? 

You couldn’t just follow the plan, mate? Fine. Make me work for it.

He had expected the mark to go to the second window. You know the hopper window that I oh so conveniently left open for you to check so I can perhaps shoot you through it? Instead, he went to the edge of the bed and sat. Even if the man lay down where he was, Sebastian knew he could have shot through the glass, but he didn’t want to risk the noise of the glass breaking. Besides, he really wanted that extra hard shot through the open space.

Lady Luck smiled upon him - a moment later, the mark was crawling up on the bed to get to a pillow. The angle was perfect for the open hopper window.

Sebastian mentally grinned – Why, thank you so much, darling!

The sniper didn’t think about it; he simply took a breath, stood straight up, aimed through the space between the three buildings and the open window, and took the shot.

…And good night, Vienna… ----------------------------------------------------

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"Beginnings End" https://archiveofourown.org/works/11161767/chapters/64017316 Published:2017-06-12 Completed:2017-10-30

@fabricdragondesigns @lavenderandvanilla @conduitstreetcat @bluebellofbakerstreet @seaweedwrites @ceciliajay @tinchuleytiger @peanitbear

Sherlock writers - please share your very first fic on Ao3. It doesn't matter if it isn't BBCSherlock. Here is mine, LOL. https://archiveofourown.org/works/4851512/chapters/11115830

@scrub456 @chriscalledmesweetie @totallysilvergirl @imnova @raina-at @vulpesmellifera please reblog and tag at will <3

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Go...

It was weeks after Sherrinford. John, a sleeping Rosie, and Sherlock enjoyed a peaceful afternoon in the restored salon of 22b.

Sherlock tuned the Stradivarius, which miraculously survived the explosion. John was making tea when they heard footsteps approaching.

“Go away!” Sherlock groused without looking up.

“You know you can’t fool me.”

Mycroft entered 221b and placed his umbrella and briefcase beside him as he sat in John’s chair.

“And afternoon to you.” A mug of tea in one hand, John was clearly about to sit in his chair.

Mycroft spared John the briefest glance of non-apology before focusing his glare upon his brother again.

Sherlock mentally groaned, knowing it meant his brother had mentally prepared himself for a lengthy discussion.

“You have done something to which I am at my wits' end to comprehend, brother mine.”

“Go, Scratch. What else is new?”

“I don’t want to know.” John rolled his eyes as he moved to the sofa to sit.

Several minutes passed without either brother speaking. John looked up to see the two brothers still staring at each other, but it was not one of their silent conversations. Sherlock was silently waiting for the silent Mycroft to speak, to say something. It hung in the air, ominously, like the quiet before the storm.

John could not help himself, “Be advised, Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson has a headache and is having a bit of a lie-in. Do keep it to a minimum.”

He was rewarded with a barely suppressed snort from Sherlock and an icy glare from Mycroft.

More silent minutes passed before Mycroft finally spoke.

“I’ve just one question, Sherlock. Why him? Why now?”

“Go think.” Sherlock raised a brow.

“I don’t need him or this!”

Reading abandoned, John watched Sherlock’s quiet amusement at Mycroft’s blatant lie.

Mycroft sighed in acceptance of the blatant truth.

“Go on,” Sherlock said, breaking the silence this time. “You know you can’t fool ME.”

“Thank you,” Mycroft whispered gratefully as he picked up his belongings and left, phone already dialing.

“Is your brother, finally, going to get him some Greg?” John beamed, “About damned time!”

Sherlock nodded and smiled in agreement.

“Go, Mycroft.” ------------------------------------------------ Read/Comment on AO3 @mystradepromptsandscenarios

[starkraivennemad]

Good tool.

Damn near every single one of my fics listed here.

This tool is optional. No one is required to use it, but it's here if you want to know which of your AO3 fics were scraped. Locked works were not 100% protected from this scrape. Currently, I don't know of any next steps you should be taking, so this is all informational.

Most people should use this link to check if they were included in the March 2025 AO3 scrape. This will show up to 2,000 scraped works for most usernames.

Or you can use this version, which is slower but does a better job if your username is a common word. This version also lets you look up works by work ID number, which is useful if you're looking for an orphaned or anonymous fic.

If you have more than 2,000 published works, first off, I am jealous of your motivation to write that much. But second, that won't display right on the public version of the tools. You can send me an ask (preferred) or DM (if you need to) to have me do a custom search for you if you have more than 2,000 total works under 1 username. If you send an ask off-anon asking me to search a name, I'll assume you want a private answer.

In case this post breaches containment: this is a tool that only has access to the work IDs, titles, author names, chapter counts, and hit counts of the scraped fics for this most recent scrape by nyuuzyou discovered in April 2025. There is no other work data in this tool. This never had the content of your works loaded to it, only info to help you check if your works were scraped. If you need additional metadata, I can search my offline copy for you if you share a work ID number and tell me what data you're looking for. I will never search the full work text for anyone, but I can check things like word counts and tags.

Please come yell if the tool stops working, and I'll fix as fast as I can. It's slow as hell, but it does load eventually. Give it up to 10 minutes, and if it seems down after that, please alert me via ask! Anons are on if you're shy. The link at the top is faster and handles most users well.

On mobile, enable screen rotation and turn your phone sideways. It's a litttttle easier to use like that. It works better if you can use desktop.

Some FAQs below the cut:

"What do I need to do now?": At this time, the main place where this dataset was shared is disabled. As far as I'm aware, you don't need to do anything, but I'll update if I hear otherwise. If you're worried about getting scraped again, locking your fics to users only is NOT a guarantee, but it's a little extra protection. There are methods that can protect you more, but those will come at a cost of hiding your works from more potential readers as well.

"I don't want to know!": This tool is 100% optional. If you don't want to know, simply don't click the link. You are totally welcome to block me if it makes you feel more comfortable.

"Can I see the exact content they scraped?": Nope, not through me. I don't have the time to vet every single person to make sure they are who they say they are, and I don't want to risk giving a scraped copy of your fic to anyone else. If you really want to see this, you can find the info out there still and look it up yourself, but I can't be the one to do it for you.

"Are locked fics safe?": Not safe, but so far, it appears that locked fics were scraped less often than public fics. The only fics I haven't seen scraped as of right now are fics in unrevealed collections, which even logged-in users can't view without permission from the owner.

"My work wasn't a fic. It was an image/video/podfic.": You're safe! All the scrape got was stuff like the tags you used and your title and author name. The work content itself is a blank gap.

"It's slow.": Unfortunately, a 13 million row data dashboard is going to be on the slow side. I think I've done everything I can to speed it up, but it may still take up to 10 minutes to load if you use the second link. It's faster if you can use desktop or the first link, but it should work on your phone too.

"My fic isn't there.": If it was published after March 15th, 2025, that was likely after all of the scraping took place. Otherwise, from what I can tell so far, the scraper's code just... wasn't very good, so most likely, your fic was missed by random chance. I am continuing to look for methods to reduce the chances of a work getting scraped anyway, and I will share on this blog if/when I find something that works. For older fics, I've seen chapters published up to March 21st included in the dataset.

Thanks to everyone who helped with the cost to host the tool! I appreciate you so so so much. As of this edit, I've received more donations than what I paid to make this tool so you do NOT need to keep sending money. (But I super appreciate everyone who did help fund this! I just wanna make sure we all know it's all paid for now, so if you send any more that's just going to my savings to fix the electrical problems with my house. I don't have any more costs to support for this project right now.)

(Made some edits to the post on 17-May-2025 to update information!)