#YOUNG MYCROFT I REPEAT YOUNG MYCROFT

[sygneth]

"...I received a telegram from my friend imploring me to return to Donnithorpe, and saying that he was in great need of my advice and assistance. Of course I dropped everything and set out for the North once more"

Holmes College Adventures Masterpost Chapter 2: part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6 - part 7 - part 8 AO3

thoughts:

Now, Holmes mentions that he "went up to his London rooms". He also mentions (MUSG) that "when he first came to London he had rooms in Montague Street". Now I see several possibilities here: 1. Holmes moved to study in London, had the Montague rooms for his two years of college and stayed there for a couple years more, until he moved to Baker Street. 2. Holmes was studying elsewhere and moved to London after he dropped out of university, and the "London rooms" he mentions in GLOR were some other rooms he rented for vacation (?) 3. He moved to London after he dropped out, and the rooms meant he stayed at Mycroft's place, but he didn't think this detail nessecary enough to mention.

There is no particular reason to choose the third one, but hey, I wanted to draw Mycroft.

[girl-next-door-writes]

Then There Was You

Characters: Mycroft Holmes x reader

Summary: A chance encounter in an airport at a magical time of year might make a believer out of even the most logical of men.

Word Count: 2076 words

Prompt: Airport. Mutual Pining. Eyes meeting across the room. “You feel like home.”

A/N: This is the first of my Build-A-Festive-Fics so thank you to the wonderful @savvy-devine666 who put these prompts together for the enigmatic Mr Holmes. Hope you enjoy it, I may have got a little carried away.

************************************************************************

In the departure lounge, the holiday spirit is palpable, creating a lively and enchanting atmosphere. The glittering decorations and twinkling lights transform the space into a festive haven, immersing travelers in the magic of the season. As passengers navigate through the terminals, the air is infused with a sense of excitement and anticipation, each step bringing them closer to the warmth of family and the joy of holiday celebrations.

Sparkling lights, glittering ornaments and garlands filled with holly and tinsel seem to adorn every surface, forcing the joviality of the season upon all who enter this artificial winter wonderland.

The sounds of classic Christmas carols fill the air, creating a harmonious backdrop to the lively conversations and laughter. The departure lounge becomes a stage for a symphony of joy, where people from all walks of life unite in the shared celebration of the season. The place somehow feels more than just a transit point, it feels almost held outside of time itself, where anything could be possible.

Mycroft Holmes, ever the embodiment of control and authority, sat in the plush surroundings of the first-class lounge, a haven for the elite travelers. The atmosphere exudes sophistication, but the irritation on Mycroft's face betrayed the inconvenience he felt. The hum of quiet conversations and the clinking of glasses momentarily ceased as an announcement crackled over the speakers, signaling yet another delay.

His brow furrowed in annoyance. The delay was unacceptable, a disruption to the carefully orchestrated schedule he had in place. He retrieved his phone from the pocket of his impeccably tailored suit and began to type furiously. His fingers danced across the screen in a rapid and precise ballet, as if Mycroft believed his typing could somehow command the weather outside. His gaze never wavered from the device, as though the intensity of his focus could single-handedly rectify the situation.

The snowfall outside the window continued unabated, indifferent to Mycroft's attempts to influence it. Despite the annoyance etched on his face, Mycroft remained the epitome of composure. The delay might persist, but Mycroft Holmes, with his phone as a weapon and his ice-cold demeanour as a shield, was determined to restore order to the chaos, even if only within the confines of the first-class lounge.

Mycroft's discerning gaze swept across the crowded first-class lounge, his mind momentarily shifting from the pressing matters of flight delays to the intriguing spectacle of human interaction unfolding before him.

His attention settled on a peculiar scene: a man, who seemed to have overindulged a little at the lounge bar, engaged in rapid-fire conversation with a young woman who appeared young enough to be his daughter. She seemed uncomfortable with the invasive nature of his questioning, but the man appeared unperturbed by her avoiding answering.

Further down the bar, an elderly gentleman called the barman by his first name. Mycroft's keen observation suggested a regular patron, a man who had traversed the halls of this exclusive lounge on numerous occasions. The over-familiarity hinted at a sense of entitlement, a privilege earned through repeated visits, and he couldn’t help but smile at the deference the bar staff paid the man. Clearly a big tipper, Mycroft surmised.

As Mycroft continued to survey of the room, he noted that everyone appeared to be bathed in the fake joviality of the festive season, papering over the cracks in their lives, and Mycroft wondered why people felt the need to cling so desperately to the promise of hope and possibility during the festive season.

Mycroft, usually the embodiment of control and emotional detachment, found himself in the throes of an unexpected internal turmoil as he observed the attractive figure across the bar absentmindedly stirring their drink. The subtle shift in his composed demeanour betrayed a rare vulnerability, and an uncharacteristic ache in his chest stirred his emotions. In his mind, he grappled with the unfamiliarity of this emotional response.

Blinking rapidly, he attempted to shake off the unusual sensations and refocus his thoughts. This wasn't the Mycroft Holmes he knew; the man who thrived on logic and control. It had to be the effects of sitting in what amounted to an oversized festive snow globe for far too long.

Despite the internal turmoil, Mycroft couldn't resist the urge to deduce. It was a coping mechanism, a way to regain a semblance of control. Not married, not romantically attached: these deductions flowed effortlessly. The presence of a book in your bag and your apparent nonchalance about the flight delays intrigued him further. As he continued to observe from a distance, Mycroft found himself at a crossroads, torn between the familiar comfort of his calculated control and the allure of exploring beneath the surface, the possibility of creating a connection with someone who had unexpectedly captured his attention.

In that unguarded moment, just as Mycroft was contemplating the probability of instigating a conversation with you which would make him somehow favourable, your eyes met his. Time seemed to stand still as a profound shift occurred within him. The man who thrived on logic and science, the master of cause and effect, found himself inexplicably lost in the depths of an unfamiliar emotional landscape.

The carefully calculated moves in the chess game of life, the strategic thinking that defined Mycroft Holmes, dissipated like mist in the face of an unexpected connection. It was as if the world had momentarily slipped from the moorings of reason, and he was caught in the uncharted territory of raw, unfiltered emotion. The air seemed to crackle with unspoken possibilities, and Mycroft Holmes, the orchestrator of order, found himself suspended in the magic of a moment that defied the logic he held so dear.

As Mycroft was caught in the whirlwind of his own thoughts and emotions, unbeknownst to him, you had not been quite as passive as he believed. Upon entering the lounge, your attention had been immediately drawn to the striking man in the finely tailored suit. The ambient glow of twinkling fairy lights seemed to play upon his features, creating an aura of both mystery and sophistication. Your observant eyes didn't just see the meticulously groomed exterior; they delved deeper into the subtle expressions that danced across his face; stern, frustrated, yet undeniably captivating.

In the backdrop of the festive ambiance, you began to weave your own internal narrative, a fictional backstory for the handsome stranger engrossed in the world within his phone. The tapping fingers and furrowed brow sparked your imagination, and you found yourself concocting scenarios that might explain his intense focus. Perhaps he was a high-powered executive handling a critical business deal, his mind navigating the complexities of global affairs. Or maybe, he was a brilliant doctor, eager to get back to the hospital where he worked in order to save the lives of several orphans who had been in a horrific accident, him being the only one who could perform the surgery. The finely tailored suit hinted at a life of privilege and authority, but the flicker of frustration painted a more human portrait beneath the veneer of sophistication.

Your eyes met Mycroft's, and both of you instinctively looked away, a fleeting moment of embarrassment shared in the silence of the lounge. Yet, as if drawn by an unseen force, your eyes found each other again and a soft smile graced your lips.

Caught off guard by the unexpected warmth of the encounter, Mycroft returned your smile nervously. His usual calm exterior seemed to falter in the face of these unfamiliar feelings bubbling inside him, threatening to breach the carefully constructed walls of his emotional reserve. It was a sensation he wasn't accustomed to, and the vulnerability it brought unsettled him.

Your hand rose in a small wave, and Mycroft hesitated for a moment before reciprocating. This was ridiculous. He had faced the most powerful people in the world, had even given some of them a dressing down, he could walk to the end of the bar and strike up a conversation with an attractive stranger. Surely it wasn’t that difficult. Yet, here he was, feeling like a teenager with their first crush. 

With a mixture of anticipation and trepidation, he got to his feet and navigated his way towards you.

"Would you mind if I joined you?" Mycroft's voice betrayed a hint of vulnerability, a departure from the usual confidence that defined him. You, however, seemed not to notice his nerves.

"That would be lovely."

As the two of you engaged in slightly awkward small talk, there was a palpable tension in the air. Mycroft couldn't shake the feeling that he was not excelling in this arena, that the art of forging emotional connections eluded him. The potential for something wonderful lingered in the air, but he couldn't shake the sense that it was slipping through his fingers.

"So… are you headed home for Christmas?" Mycroft asked; a question he knew the answer to but felt compelled to inquire nonetheless. The conversation seemed to teeter perilously on the edge of uncertainty.

"Yes. I suppose so." You said thoughtfully.

"What do you mean?"

"Well… home is such a strange concept. Somewhere can feel like home despite it being the first time you are there. People can feel like home. Not just family, not just the familiar. Have you ever been somewhere and felt like you have been there before? Like you are remembering a place you have never visited. Or met someone who just feels like they are new but also so familiar? Sorry, that took rather a strange turn. When people talk about home, they mean the place they come from, not some abstract concept." You gave him a bashful smile, clearly embarrassed by your ramblings.

The conversation had indeed taken a turn into the realms of introspection and philosophy and Mycroft found that delightful. As you spoke about the abstract nature of home and the peculiar familiarity one can feel with places and people, Mycroft found himself drawn to the depth of your thoughts, drawn to you.

For a moment, the awkwardness seemed to dissipate, and Mycroft discovered that he did indeed understand point of view.

"You feel like home," he said softly, the words escaping him before he could stop them.

"What?"

"I said, Yule feels like home. The time of the year. There is something about it that just feels…" Mycroft trailed off, the weight of his words hanging in the air. In that vulnerable admission, he revealed a layer of himself that rarely saw the light of day.

"It does. There is something so cozy about the festivities. You can't help but feel something magical could happen."

Your response held a warmth that echoed Mycroft's sentiment and he couldn’t help but think what his brother would say if he heard this conversation. There would be severe mocking, but Mycroft found he didn’t much care.

The moment between the two of you was abruptly shattered by an announcement over the lounge’s speaker, signaling the boarding call for passengers.

"Well… that's me." You rose from your seat, casting a bittersweet smile in Mycroft's direction. "It was lovely to meet you, Mycroft."

“You too.”

As you walked away, Mycroft's gaze lingered, and he couldn't help but feel a tinge of regret. The encounter had been brief but had carried a weight of unexpected connection and shared sentiments. The lounge, once a stage for silent glances and meaningful conversation, now felt a bit emptier as you moved toward your departure gate.

The first-class lounge, adorned with holiday decorations and a twinkle of lights, returned to its bustling atmosphere as other passengers prepared for their journeys. Mycroft, still lost in thought, found himself contemplating the significance of the brief encounter and the unanswered questions that lingered in the air.

"What am I doing?" Mycroft muttered to himself, a sudden realisation propelling him to his feet. The urgency of his thoughts overrode any hesitation as he hurriedly headed after you. The encounter had left an impression, and he couldn't bear the idea of letting you simply walk out of his life.

The bustling atmosphere of the airport became a blur as Mycroft navigated through the crowd, his determined strides reflecting a sense of urgency that contrasted with his usual measured pace.

Mycroft reached your departure gate just in time to catch a glimpse of you preparing to board. With a breathless yet determined expression, he approached, the echoes of uncertainty and vulnerability replaced by a sense of purpose.

"Wait!”

[callsigndragon]

The Christmas Date | Chapter 3: Little Drumer Boy

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Fem!Kerner!Reader

(Ron Kerner is Slider, Iceman's backseater)

Wordcount: 3k

Summary: Y/n "Athena" Kerner and Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw hate each other. Everybody knows. What happens when they have to fake date for a whole week to avoid Iceman and Slider's matchmaking plans?

(there won't be smut in this series)

Warnings: OKAY SO. If there is any transphobic person reading this, i'm sorry but it's time to LEAVE. Iceman's grandSON is trans, Rooster/Thena being supportive godparents, Rooster's ex-gf has entered the chat, and a big asshole has entered too, mentions of cheating, mentions of coming out. (idk how to write warnings for this chapter sowwy)

A/N: SURPRISE!!! HERE YOU HAVE ANOTHER CHAPTER. Big thanks to my fellow procrastinating queen @purplevortexx for helping me with this series. Without her, i'd still be stuck at the beginning.

Tag list:@ducks118 @milestellerwife @craftymoonchaos @littlebadariell @xoxabs88xox @alexxavicry @tayrae515 @shrimping-for-all @mak-32 @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @harper1666

(If you want to be tagged comment or sent an ask <3)

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I need your help. 

That's the first thing you see when you open your eyes and look at your phone to see the hour. Is insanely early, but Rebecca's text message has been there for a few hours already. 

You: Are you okay? 

You ask her and drop the phone, moving to the end of the bed and seeing Rooster looking at his phone too. One thing about being in the military: you don't get much sleep. 

"Did Rebecca send you a message too?" he asks when he sees your face from the corner of his eye. 

You nod while Rooster gets up and sits on the bed with you. "I texted her back. Did you talk to her?" 

"No. I was waiting for you to wake up" 

Your phone beeps and you look to see Rebecca's answer. 

Becca: It's about Jessica

That makes you look at each other in fear. Is your niece okay? Did something happen? Is she hurt? You ask all those questions and she responds with the most unexpected answer you could have expected. 

Becca: He doesn't want to be Jessica anymore. 

"Did she say 'he'?" questions Rooster, taking your phone and looking closer in case he didn't read it right. 

"She did" you look at him. "What does that even mean?" 

Rooster texts her back, asking for a bit more information. 

Becca: Just get rid of all the princesses and girly things in his bedroom. I'll see you this afternoon. 

Rooster locks your phone and leaves it on the bedside table. You both look at each other, trying to understand what the heck is happening. And then, something inside you clicks. 

"He doesn't want to be Jessica anymore" you repeat aloud what your friend just texted you. 

"Yeah, that I got it. And then she said 'his room'" Rooster adds, trying to solve the mystery. 

"Roos… I don't think we have a princess any longer" 

And then, as if that same thought that clicked inside you appears in his mind, his face moves past the quizzical look, to an understanding one, and then to a worried frown. 

"Oh shit" 

It's the only thing he says but you know he understands but you're trying to insinuate. 

"Can someone understand what…gender is at such a young age?" he questions, moving from the bed to get himself a hoodie. 

"Apparently. Maybe not gender, but... they can know what feeling trapped in the wrong body is? Dear Lord, we're not prepared for this" you panic a little. 

"Well, we'll better be. Get your ass out of that stupidly short pajama pants. This is a mission and we have hours to decide how to approach it" 

You glare at him, hoping to burn a whole in his head with your eyes. "First of all, what have my PJs to do with any of this?" 

"They're short. Really short. I think by calling them 'shorts' I'm making them longer than they are. It’s distracting" he opens his bag and gets out some gray sweatpants that he throws at your face. "Put on those" 

"I won't wear your clothes!" you let the cloth fall to the floor, stepping away from it as if it was a disgusting creature. 

"That's what girlfriends do, princess. They steal your clothes. You won't know because you don't have experience but yes, that's what they do" he explains to you, talking to you with a you're-dumb-for-not-knowing-the-basics tone.

"Are you going to bring that up anytime you can?" you sigh, getting the pants from the floor and moving to the bathroom.

"I don't know. Maybe. I have one question, though" 

You stop at the door, leaning against the door frame and moving your hand as a signal for him to carry on. 

"Have you ever… you know" 

"No, I don't know" 

Rooster tsks and rolls his eyes. "Sex, Thena. I'm talking about sex" 

You feel your whole face heating up, taken aback by his sudden, uncalled, question. Who does he think he is, asking that? You move inside the bathroom and close the door, slamming it behind you. 

After changing and going downstairs for coffee you see a note in the kitchen counter. It's Sarah's handwriting. Iceman, Mav, your father and her had gone out to make some errands and won't be here until noon. Good, you can work better on changing your nephew's bedroom if there's not people around asking questions. 

You've heard stories on social media and TV, of young children being uncomfortable in their own skin. Jess- your nephew it's five, almost six in a few months, and you think that maybe it's soon for him to feel this way. But children these days are surprisingly clever and more sensitive. They seem to understand things in a different way than you did at their age. You swore to take care and love that little human being as your own when Rebecca named you and Rooster godparents. Girl, boy, or anything in between. It doesn't matter to you. As long as he's happy.

"Morning, Thena" says Nick, coming out of nowhere. 

"Hey, Nick. You got plans for today?" you ask, trying to subtly find out if he's going to be around the house during the morning. 

Rooster walks in, you hand him the note and a mug of coffee while he, getting into character, kisses your cheek and mutters a quick thank you. 

"Actually, I think I'm going to stay in today. Got a few things to do" 

"We're staying too. Maybe we can help you so you can get time to see your friends?" Rooster attempts to get him out of the house too. He can be dumb sometimes but he's quick to catch on other things. 

"Oh no, don't worry" Nick instantly rejects the offer. "My back is hurting a bit so I'd rather stay home. I'm getting old, you know" he tries to laugh, but you can see he's nervous, his eyes avoiding yours. He's drumming his fingers on the counter. 

"She told you too, right?" you finally ask. 

Nick lets out a breath and sits on one of the wooden stools. "Sweet mother of Jesus. I've never been more nervous. Thank God, you know" 

Rooster laughs a little and gets poor Nick a steaming cup of coffee that he accepts gladly. He takes a long sip, probably burning his tongue and then, pops the question of the hour: "What are we going to do?" 

"Easy. We get everything girlish and whatever thing that has his dead name written on it out of the room" you state, no hesitation in your voice. 

"Should we buy he- him more things?" Nick corrects himself quickly. 

"I think we should talk to him first. Hear what our little one has to say. And then, we help him. As much as we can" 

Rooster looks at you in a way that you don't understand. You don't think he has ever looked at you like that before. But you've seen that look in his eyes when Maverick and Iceman used to talk about his father, telling stories and remembering him through old photos. 

Admiration

"What?" it comes out as a soft question, and the little smile that appears on his face makes you feel something in your stomach. 

"You're amazing" he kisses your forehead, a few seconds longer than one would call appropriate, and finishes his coffee. "Let's start this Christmas mission" he says, clapping his hands and running upstairs. 

You don't throw anything away, however. You box those things that don't seem to fit in the room anymore. Rebecca said to get rid of anything pink and she knows something more than you do. But just in case your nephew wants to keep something, you move the box full of belongings under his bed. 

"I think we should buy some new things" Nick says after a while. "Blankets are… princess related. Curtains too. And we need to get a new Christmas stocking!" 

"My kids will have a white room with bunnies, I swear" says Rooster. "Okay, Thena. We're going shopping. We had to go get the Christmas tree anyway.” 

“Yeah, we’ll go, let me go change” you say, leaving the room. 

Nick looks at Rooster, a mischievous smile on his face. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“I was just wondering if you told her already” Nick turns off the light and leaves the room, too, going downstairs. 

Rooster has a slight idea of what he’s implying, but decides to play dumb just in case. “Told her what?” 

“About prom” 

Rooster stands before him, voice barely a whisper but intimidating nonetheless. “If you ever tell her about that, I will break your fingers one by one. And I don’t care that you’re named after my old man” 

“She needs to know. And you’re together, now! It doesn’t matter” Nick insists, not understanding why Bradley is trying to keep it a secret. 

“Nick” Bradley warns him. 

“That would only make her love you more. And you’re cute together” 

“Don’t. Tell. Her. Understood?” 

“Aye, aye, Lt.” 

You walk in, already changed and ready to go. “It would be easier if we knew his preferred name. Maybe Sarah can embroider his name on it. Oh shit” 

“What, now? I swear I can’t take more bad news this morning” Nick, always the drama queen, sits on the sofa and fans himself with his hand. 

“Sarah, Iceman… they don’t know it” 

“Don’t worry about it, they took it well when I came out” Nick simply says, and you look at him with widened eyes. “...You didn’t know” 

“Nicholas George Kazansky, how dare you hide this information from us?” says Rooster, grabbing a pillow and hitting him in the head. 

“I’m sorry! But now you know that they’re going to be chill about it. Now you go and buy all the things we need asap. Thank you.” 

Rooster leaves and you lean to whisper in Nick’s ear. “So do we agree that Rooster has a good ass?” 

“Damn right, we agree” he winks at you. 

You laugh. “Atta boy” you pat him on the back and get your jacket before leaving the house. 

“Have you seen any Marshall plushie?” Rooster asks, pushing the cart around the toy aisle at Walmart. 

“I saw a Marshall blanket before, wait here” Thena says, almost running to find the blanket.

Rooster stays there, looking at the different toys and trying to find Paw Patrol ones. Marshall has always been his nephew’s favorite and he thought that it would be good to buy him more things about the puppies. 

He is glad that this change is happening with you around. He knows that you handle things better than him, always ready to act. He is more prone to sit back, think about it and then act. In this case they needed more action and less thinking. That’s why you two were such a good team, even if you hated it. 

Just when he sees Marshall’s fire truck, a voice from the end of the aisle makes his stomach turn. And not in a good way. 

“Bradley?” says a young woman. Yeah, he could never forget that voice. It’s the one that broke his heart in pieces two years ago. 

“Mandy” he grabs the fire truck toy and turns around to leave. But the blonde woman is not having it. 

“Bradley, c’mon. You could at least say hi” she says, walking up to him. Rooster looks at her face, and he doesn’t understand how he could have spent so much time moping around because of a woman like her.

She is pretty, he can’t say no to that. Every woman is. But she always knew how to accentuate her most attractive features. And maybe that was the reason why he was attracted to her at first. Rooster had imagined his life with Mandy, he thought about marrying her, even though a little voice in his head said that he shouldn’t do it, that he wasn’t really happy. That he was settling for less than he deserved. He was glad that he didn’t propose, however. Because he came back home from a deployment one day, and she was gone. Not a sign of her left in the house. As if she had never existed. 

“Hi, Mandy. I don’t have anything to talk about with you. Bye, Mandy” he turns in the opposite direction and, thanks to the universe, you are walking to him with the blanket in your hands.

“Found it!” you approach him and throw the soft material in the cart. Only then you notice the desperate look in Rooster’s eyes, and his head nodding in the blonde woman’s direction. Wait, is that Mandy? You’ve never seen her in person but it seems like she’s the devil itself. You wouldn’t give this woman the time of the day. 

“That’s good, honey. We can leave now” 

“Honey? Rooster, is this your new girlfriend?” she sounds angry, like she expected Rooster to still be in love with her. 

You hate Rooster, but it would never compare to the loathing you have against Mandy. How can someone leave her boyfriend when he's deployed? That's the lowest thing you can do. 

"Oh, hi. You know my boyfriend?" you say in a sweet voice, linking your arm with his and looking up at him. "Is she your friend, babe?"

Rooster smiles down at you, relieved by your presence, and shakes his head. "Nope. This is Mandy. I've told you about her" 

"Oh. Mandy. Well, I'm going to say thank you for leaving him because he's the best man ever" you chuckle a bit, making Mandy clench her jaw. 

Oh yeah. Suffer you little bitch. 

"He wasn't that good when I left him" she rolls her eyes.

"Well, he is now" 

And before you can say anything else, a man appears at the end of the aisle. You know him. And you wish you wouldn't. 

"Mandy, you can't just leave me hanging like that. I've been looking for you everywhere and this place is huge" he says, not realizing that his girl is talking with you two. "Who are your-. Wait. Athena? Rooster? My god it's been forever since I saw you! C'mon, give me a hug" 

Rooster is pleased by the man's sudden appearance. You're not. This man who has dark hair, brown eyes and the same height as Rooster is a fellow aviator. Lt. Hank ‘Solo’ Myers. Yeah, the call sign was a bit dumb. And the owner’s an asshole. You two have a past. You just hope that he doesn’t bring it up. 

After Solo hugs Rooster, he pulls you in for a hug. You don’t want to be close to him in any way, but you need to be the smiley girlfriend right now. Solo’s hand moves from your shoulders down to your back, and he seems to move it even lower but you pull away before he can touch your ass. 

He hasn’t changed a bit. 

You move closer to Rooster, his hand immediately in your hip, bringing you closer. You told Rooster once that you didn’t like Myers. Luckily, he seems to remember it. 

“Wait, you’re together now?” Solo says, looking you up and down. Not an inch of your skin is visible, and yet you feel completely naked under his stare. 

“Yeah, I know. It’s unexpected but we’re happy and that’s all that matters” Rooster explains, kissing your head. “How do you two know each other?” asks Rooster pointing between Solo and Mandy.

“You introduced us on Halloween three years ago, remember?” he quickly says. 

“It does ring a bell, yeah. And you’re dating my ex now?” 

“Babe, I think we should get going” you state, looking at your phone. You still have time left but you don’t want to be here anymore. Something tells you that the story behind Solo and Mandy’s relationship has something to do with her disappearing out of nowhere. 

Solo, Rooster and you were members of the same squad at the time, however Solo wasn’t assigned to the mission. He fucked up real good with one of the high-rankers and as a punishment, he stayed behind. When the two of you came back after a month away, Mandy was gone, and Solo was transferred to another station. You’ve never thought too much about it but now, seeing the two of them together…

You don’t have to be a genius to connect the dots. 

“Rooster” you repeat. “Let’s go” 

“Yeah, let’s go” 

After buying a Christmas tree and all the possible things a five year old boy could have, you drive silently home. Rooster’s eyes never leave the road and even though you enjoy the silence, you can’t see him like that. 

“Bradshaw, do you want to-” 

“Kerner, you’ve been hating me all your life, there’s no need to be caring about me all of a sudden” 

You take a deep breath, knowing that he must be feeling like shit right now. “Rooster, please” 

He parks outside the house, but doesn’t get out of the car. He stays quiet, looking outside the window, and you don’t know if he’s waiting for you to get inside the Iceman residence or what. 

Just when your hand touches the handle, Rooster mutters. “Did she cheat on me?” 

“Rooster…” you grab his hand, squeezing it. “Don’t go down that road again. She’s a bitch. Did you see her face when she found out you had moved on?” 

He chuckles a bit. “Yeah. A bit egotistical of her to think that after two years I’ll still be into her” 

“I don’t like her” 

“I bought her a ring, you know” he confesses.

“An engagement ring?” 

He nods, leaning back on the seat. “Thought she was the one…” 

“When you find the one, you’ll know it” you reassure him. 

He looks at your hands, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. Again, that weird feeling appears in your stomach. 

“Let’s go put new curtains on that room” 

[moriartyluver]

FALSE LOVERS CHAPTER XXIII

'IS THIS THE TEXTBOOK I SAW WILLIAM READING?' (Name) asked herself as she looked through the library book. She had seen her rival take out this book from the British library. It was a mathematics textbook that she was certain he had used to beat her on the previous exam. The girl had felt distracted by her own issues lately, but now she had the chance to focus on her studies once more. 

The library was quite empty, it was late at night after all. She would have asked her rival to accompany her to the library as usual, but she didn't have the chance after being bombarded with questions from Theodore's friends as to where he may have been. 

(Name) knew where he was though she feigned innocence

Hell. 

As she looked through the book, a piece of paper had fallen out onto the ground. A little note which she opened, recognising the handwriting instantly. 

"I knew you'd come looking for this textbook, (name). You and I haven't spoken much recently, likely because you keep 'forgetting' about meeting with me. How about we have a meal together after Friday's lecture?

~ W. J.M ( ◠‿◠ )" 

She rolled her eyes, putting the note in her skirt pocket and shutting the textbook. The doors of the library had swung open, a gasp could be heard amongst the silence of the library, the sounds of loud footsteps were approaching the corner where (name) was stood. She turned around fast enough to cause whiplash. 

Behind her was a group of men, each wearing military police uniforms. She looked at them skeptically, an eyebrow raised at them as they towered over her. Her previously neutral expression shifted into a cunning smile. 

One spoke, clearly the highest ranking based on his pins and badges. "Lady (Name) (last name), you are under arrest on suspicion for treason, murder, and acting in hostility towards the crown" 

"I expected I'd get caught at some point.." (Name) laughed, putting the textbook back on the shelf then holding out her arms "Very well then. Cuff me and take me away." 

The  officers looked surprised for a moment at how compliant she was. They had been warned of how dangerous this young lady was, and yet she obliged so easily. They looked at each other as if to say 'Make sure she doesn't try anything' 

Shortly after, (name) was taken into a carriage to the Military headquarters and guided to an office while the other officers littered in the halls looked in surprise that such an innocent looking woman was being taken into custody and has such a large group of some of their strongest soldiers surrounding her to prevent her from running off. 

Eventually, (name) was stood outside a couple of large doors. One of the officials knocked on the door, using some strange code words which the lady deduced to be referring to her, earning a 'enter' from the opposite side. 

The doors were pushed open and (name) was dragged to a seat, opposite a man with dark blue eyes and a piercing gaze. She sat down reluctantly, groaning in annoyance. 

"You may all leave now." The man said. 

"Bur director..! What if she attempts to—" He was cut off 

"Do not make me repeat myself." And with that, they had all left, although hesitant. (Name) was still quiet. She had barely said a word since her arrest despite feeling the urge to pester the officers during the carriage ride. 

She finally spoke. "You must be Director Mycroft Holmes, I'd like to say it's a pleasure to meet you but given the circumstances.." 

"I see you already know who I am, how did you find out?" He asked curiously, maintaining a serious demeanour. 

"It was rather clear based on your appearance and authority, but the sign on the door certainly helped." (Name) said nonchalantly as the man looked at her, dumbfound. "Now, what do you plan to do with me, a life imprisonment? Torture? The death sentence?" 

Mycroft stood up from his seat, walking around his office as (name) fidgeted with her handcuffs. 

"Not only did you kill my former superior, you also tortured Theodore Arden to death, so extremely that the autopsy report couldn't even determine what had caused his death," The Director spoke in disbelief "You killed his father, Viscount Arden, along with his entire family. They're calling it the Arden Massacre in the papers which I suspect with garner quite the audience, the nobility have been curious in regards to their absences. Not to mention, that wasn't the only family you killed. You even had their estate bombed to eliminate any possibility of it being traced back to you" 

"Correction, Director. I bombed it for the sake of my own vengeance. I couldn't care less if I were caught," (name) smirked "Had I wished to commit the perfect crime, I would have done so with ease. I would have killed as many people as I could ever desire and not get caught."

Holmes turned around, his eyes narrowing at her. "Is that a threat?" 

"I prefer the term 'promise'." She said, clicking her fingers as her handcuffs fell to the ground with a clatter. "Would you not be glad that you were promoted because of me? Surely that should be reason enough to have me executed in a clean and merciful manner, like Queen Anne Boleyn" 

(Name) had long ago accepted the possibility that her thirst for revenge could result in her own death. She didn't care though. If she had to die to do the right thing in avenging her brother, she would.

"If you truly are concerned with this so called 'Arden Massacre', perhaps I can give you a list of offence I had found when spying on the Viscount through his son." (Name) continued with a smile "Believe me, it's certainly not short." 

Mycroft raised a brow, sitting back at his desk. "And you believe it'll lessen your punishment?" 

"Punishing me wouldn't be wise, Sir Holmes. Besides..!" Her smile shifted into an angry scowl "You British bastards and your bloody empire have done enough to hurt the rest of the world. I mean, how would you react if  your brother was ordered to be killed in the most humiliating and painful way possible solely to be a 'warning' to your parents because they had tried to defend the right to their country maintains its current leadership instead of handing it to you ghostly pale know-it-alls!" 

She hadn't noticed the sympathetic glint in the directors eyes as she struggled to hide her rage more and more by the second. (Name) bit the inside of her cheek as if containing her words. 

"Rest assured, I have no intention of having you executed. From what I understand, you likely would have something up your sleeve." The Director rested his elbows on the desk, his chin against the back of his interlocking hands. "Humour me, what exactly would you do if I attempted to have you eliminated?" 

(Name) furrowed her eyebrows at the question. "If I were put in such a position.." she trailed off "I take it you are aware of the vast collection of blackmail I've gathered in the last year or so. I also assume you would hate to become the enemy of countless countries within and outside the British Empire. I understand you didn't request to have my brother killed, but I can be merciless when I wish to." 

"...You are aware of the effect your actions could have on (home country) and the noble house of (last name). We're in a stalemate, if you will." Mycroft commented in regards to their situation. 

If he had exposed (name) as the criminal behind the Arden Massacre and the linked murders, there was the possibility of starting a butterfly effect, causing Britain to wage war with (home country), however (name) was threatening to expose multiple scandals the British were involved in and cause a war involving numerous countries. Neither party could make their move without the other fighting back. 

"I'm aware." 

The Director nodded, turning back to the brothers. "Enough chatter..thank you for retrieving the documents, M..! I will include Adler's death in my report to her majesty." He said as he shut the door, ready to leave. "Farewell." 

Albert directed his attention to a nervous Adler. "Now..only one thing left to do." 

Once the group had returned to the Moriarty Manor in London, Adler was to be given a new identity, and in turn, a new life. 

"Now, there's only one thing left to do." 

Adler averted her gaze, awaiting instructions. 

"Fred, search the morgue for a body similar to that of Irene's here." Albert ordered the boy who nodded in response. 

"Understood." 

"Irene, from this moment, you are dead. As a member of our organisation, I will assign you to the secret service so we can make the most of you." He gestured to the colonel sat in the corner. "Colonel Moran is agent number 6. Feel free to ask him any questions." 

"O-Okay.." Adler stuttered 

"Soon you will become agent number 7, with a license to kill. You require a new name as well...for your given name, you may have ours: James. You may choose a surname yourself." 

Adler contemplated the potential options, thinking aloud "James...a new life..friends..ties.." she trailed off. "Bond." Taking a knife from a briefcase, Alder sliced the bun in her hair with a knife, golden locks falling to the ground. 

"My name is Bond." The new member spoke, wiping away lipstick with a thumb. "James Bond." 

"Your belongings have been delivered to your room," Louis told Bond as he gave him a tour of the estate.

Bond smiled in gratitude "Thank you, Mr Louis." 

"From today, Ms Adler, you will assume the role of a servant within our household and will be recruited to help with various activities." Louis explained 

"Understood." Bond nodded. "But please, stop referring to me as 'Ms Adler'. That woman no longer exists. Treat me as you would a man...and call me 'Bond'." 

"Very well then. Let me give you a tour of the estate, Mr Bond. I would've asked Miss Evans but she's having tea with (name) currently.." 

"Thank you.." 

As the tour continued, (name) and Josephine (along with Romeo who was sat with (name) as usual) were out on the porch, sipping tea as they discussed the latest gossip and such. (Name) had begun opening up about recent events in her life as Josephine had her journal and pen in hand. 

"..and then I said 'Especially if this young woman is from—'" she paused looking at the girl opposite her, writing keenly on her leather bound journal "Josephine, what are you writing?" 

Josephine's freckled cheeks flushed in embarrassment. She averted her gaze as she explained herself  "My apologies, (name)...I've recently started writing a novel of my own but I haven't had much time between chores and missions. I'm using all the free time I can get" 

This has piqued (name)'s interest. "A novel? What genre?" 

"Ah..it's quite a blend really..primarily it's a bit of a mystery book but there's a side plot of romance too.." She said quietly. 

"Like the new Sherlock Holmes books?" (Name) asked, stroking Romeo’s white fur. 

"A lot like those actually.." Josephine smiled "It's a work in progress though..! Just the first draft! I'm still unsure of the main protagonists name really but she's rather likeable, I'd say."

"Well, when you're ready, I would be honoured to read some of it for you," (name) smiled as she took another sip of tea.

As for the tour, Louis had explained each of the rooms on the many floors of the manor. 

"To the east of the second floor is Albert's bedroom and study. To the west, William's room and (name)'s too.  (Name) has her own study although it's slightly smaller than William's so (Name) insists it's why they tend to work together a lot, usually till sunrise." Louis explained. He had grown fond of his sister in law over the years he had known her. She seemed to have a respect for him he hadn't felt before.

"This is a nice estate.." James hummed "you seem to look out for the couple quite a lot too..I can see every nook and cranny of this place has been taken care of with much love from you, Mr Louis." 

Louis smiled but his expression quickly became one of distaste. "Yes though William, (name) and I often spend half the week in Durham so I've never had the time to clean this place up properly..No thanks to Mr Moran. Always dirtying up the place with his filth..just the other day Miss Evans told me she had caught him dropping his cigarette butts all over the floor..can you believe it? She gave him quite the talking to thankfully." 

"Mr Moran you say?" Bond smirked as they walked up to the third floor "I couldn't believe he was from a prestigious family myself."

"The third floor in this estate is for servants. The room in the middle is used by Fred and Moran as a training room. (Name) trains Miss Evans personally in combat, outside though." 

"What about that room there?" Bond nodded to it curiously 

"Next to Miss Evan's room? That is the changing room. You can use it too Mr Bond, but if you would rather your own..." Louis explained as the door was pushed open

"Not at all, but thanks for your concern," Bond said as he peered inside the changing room to see an unclothed Moran and Fred getting dressed 

"Huh?" the colonel grunted 

"Good day, I will be working together with you from now on—" Bond greeted politely

"Dwaahh!! You bloody woman!! Don't just barge in here!! At least knock first!! Where's your common decency?!" He exclaimed, covering his crotch with a towel 

Bond feigned ignorance and smiled "Why are you acting so embarrassed, Mr Moran? Do you feel insecure about your body?" 

Moran gasped in disbelief "What?! Of course not!! My body's a work of art! Its as sculpted as Michelangelo's David!" He posed as he slung the towel over his shoulder "Wait who cares about that?! You're a woman! You can't just barge in when us men are changin'!! Come on Louis, say something!!" 

"You have a point Mr Moran...but it would be quite discriminatory to build a female changing room for Mr Bond who is also a man.." Louis said thoughtfully

"Are you mad?!" Moran yelled "I can clearly see the racks on that bird!! Besides think of poor Fred!! How do you expect him to contain himself around those things?!" 

Fred sighed in annoyance, as if to say 'don't bring me into this.' The racket had started to draw the attention of the other three people in the manor. 

Bond had spoken up as if to step in "I think there's been some confusion here, so allow me to make one thing clear. I am a man. I wish to be treated as a man." He said " With that said, you can stop worrying and go about your business as usual, all right?" 

Moran clenched his teeth in frustration " It may be all well and good for you, but I don't approve it! For argument's sake, let's assume you are a man on the inside...there would still be problems." 

"You don't need to worry, Mr Moran. As you can see, I am very much a man. From my voice to the way I walk, even to the slightest gesture: I am a man." 

"It's not just about appearance lady," Moran said as footsteps approached the changing room. "You still can't match the strength of a real man. What if something happened during—" 

SLAM 

Bond had lifted his foot up, pinning a crouching colonel down against the wall. "Persistent, aren't you? Do I need to keep repeating myself to you? If you truly wish to see it my strength can match yours," he leaned forward to whisper into his ear menacingly "Then why not try and see for yourself, Mr Moran?" 

"Jesus Christ!! That woman scares me!! What does she mean by that?! Try?! Try what?!" Moran leapt up to hide behind Louis as the door opened to reveal both (name) holding Romeo,  and Josephine along with William too.

"What on earth is all the commotion about?" (Name) sighed as Louis placed his hands over the two ladies' eyes, shielding them from seeing Moran naked. 

"(Name)! William!" 

"You sound lively, Moran. What's the matter?" William chimed in as he stood in the doorway. 

"Listen to this! She—" He was cut off by Bond 

"We were discussing whether or not I can use this changing room. What do you think, (nickname), will?" He asked 

"The changing room, mr bond?" William repeated. 

(Name) removed Louis's hand from her eyes "I see no issue with another man using the male changing rooms.." 

William turned to Moran with a confused expression "Do you have something against another man using the changing room, Mr Moran?" 

"She can always change with you, come on!" Moran pointed to (name) who rolled her eyes. 

"Surely you mustn't be suggesting that I allow a man to change with Josephine and I. How improper." She said with a furrowed brow. 

Moran's jaw dropped, expecting to be backed up. "D-Damn you...William, (name).." 

Bond rested his hand against the door with a satisfied smile "That's settled then. We'll do as you two say." 

'Damn that woman...she knows how to get William an' (name) on her side..' Moran thought to himself 

"Oh, Mr Bond, once you're finished with your tour, please come to the living room. The rest of us will wait for you there," William smiled "And Mr Moran, please put some clothes on, there are ladies present." 

After a while, William had entered the lounge along with Louis and (name) while the 'servants' and Romeo (who had taken a liking to Bond) waited for their orders. 

"Bloody hell, man...don't go doing trivial things just before a meeting!" Moran complained 

"Now don't be like that, Moran. After all, all of you will be working together for today's job." William explained. 

Moran shot up "Wait! All of us...including Bond?!" 

"Naturally." William said as he sat down beside (name) who had Romeo now sat in her lap "Though Bond is now one of us, he is inexperienced in the way we operate. It's your job to guide and support him." 

"But what if we don't work well together!?" The colonel interrupted. 

"We will do as Albert said and make the best out of Bond. This letter contains all you need to know about this job.." (name) had noticed her husband voice becoming softer, more exhausted by the second. 

"If you say so, William.." 

"I'm going to take a little rest..(Name) can explain the rest to you..." Williams eyelids grew heavy, his eyelashes fluttering shut "And Mr Moran, get out of those clothes...put on something proper.." 

(Name) had suddenly felt something heavy land on her thighs while Romeo leapt up onto the arm rest. She looked down to see William snoring softly, asleep as his head rested on her lap, one hand gripping at the skirt of her dress. The room was silent for a good few seconds. The others (apart from Bond who had still not become aware of the circumstances of the couple's marriage) had half expected her to shove him off in embarrassment and try to change the subject, yet (name) remained sat there and even more shockingly, resting a hand in his hair affectionately, another tugging the collar of his shirt upwards to avoid further unwanted embarrassment. 

"William!" Louis stood up, removing his jacket to drape over his brother, fussing over him as usual.  "You'll fall ill if you sleep out here!"

“Honestly..you geniuses and your lack of self care..” Josephine muttered from behind (name) who frowned in guilt “We get worried when you don’t sleep or eat properly..” 

“Taking a nap, eh, will?” Bond laughed from the other end of the sofa. 

(Name) brushed a strand of hair out of William’s face, tucking it behind his ear, a smile tugging at her lips. “Not exactly..William often gets exhausted like this from thinking too much.”

“When he falls asleep like that, there not much that can wake him up.” Louis commented as he covered William with the jacket, shielding him from the cold. 

“Ah..I see,” Bond nodded “Hey, (nickname), are you and will…?” 

(Name) blinked at him in confusion. Josephine smirked, taking the opportunity at hand “Oh they most definitely are. William’s always calling (name) very affectionate pet names and is usually teasing her non stop.” 

“I once caught ‘em in William’s office about to—“  Moran was about to expose (name) for the previous incident following her husbands kidnapping before (name) cut him off. 

“It wasn’t what it looked like..! A-And besides, our marriage is none of your concern!” (Name) exclaimed, clearly flustered, then turning to Bond “It’s nothing of the sort, I assure you. M..Moving on..” she coughed, gesturing to the note which Moran opened  “In there you will find the rest of the instructions. There’s a key for the bank vault. I’ll stay behind to keep an eye on William, farewell.” 

Once they had been sent off, not without a few gilt whispers between Bond and Josephine , (name) had remained resting on the sofa with William laying comfortably in her lap, fearful that she may wake him if she got up. She sat there, petting Romeo sat on the arm rest beside her and speaking to him as if he were a small child,while absentmindedly playing with William’s beautiful blond hair. 

After what had felt like a while, sitting and watching over William, occasionally looking at the same few lines in her book, (name)’s legs had started to grow numb and she noticed her husband occasionally shivering and leaning against her, so she had decided to get a blanket to keep him warm. 

She took a pillow from behind her back and slowly got up, quickly swapping her lap for a pillow with some difficulty as the blond had gripped onto the fabric of  (name)’s dress as if she would disappear upon leaving. 

(Name) pressed her lips to his forehead before heading upstairs to get a blanket for William, Romeo following behind her, which had taken a surprisingly long time. Eventually she found a thin purple blanket to cover the professor and went back downstairs to see that the others had returned. 

There was an elderly man who was stood over the sleeping William, pinching his cheek. Moran was holding a flask of alcohol and yelling at Bond and Fred, Josephine and Louis were stood beside them. 

“I see you’ve all returned then,” (name) Said, approaching where she previously sat, then turning to the old man “You must be—“ 

“The old man!!” Moran exclaimed in shock “I-I mean…Instructor!!” 

“Little will hasn’t changed at all since I last saw him..” The Instructor chuckled as (name) covered ‘little will’ with the blanket and ushered Romeo away to not disturb him “nothing I do would wake him up..” 

“Instructor..?” Bond repeated “Yours, Mr Moran?” 

“Hell..so that’s why William called you..” Moran mutter, ruffling his hair 

Louis placed the box they had retrieved down “It seems so..the package we picked up from the vault indeed belongs  to him.” 

“Knives?” 

“How I missed these,” The instructor said, taking a knife out, unsheathing it “I had thought I would never see these again..” 

“The old man’s name is Jack Renfield. After the old Moriarty estate burnt down, it was him who took care of William and his brothers as a butler at Lord Rockwell’s estate.” Moran explained “He served in the British army during the first Anglo-Afghan war, and was given the moniker ‘The British Jack Knife’ by the enemy. During his time in the army, he also served as a close quarters combat instructor. Although now, he’s just an old butler who has been forgotten by history. Only those who still remember the war recognise him.” 

“Why would will summon such a man here?” Bond asked

“A killer is currently on a rampage across London..what’s worse, the psychopath is using the same name as our old instructor here.” Moran replied as the instructor put on the gear previously contained in the box. 

Bond put a finger to his chin as he thought “The infamous killer who was in the paper..I remember his name was..” He widened his blue eyes in realisation “Jack..!”

“Yes..” Moran confirmed “But this is the real Jack..

‘Jack the ripper’” 

William : (name)  and I are having a baby

Josephine: That’s great—

(Name), slamming adoption papers on the table: It’s you, sign here.

A/N: Teen fl was a menace to society. If I was Mycroft I wouldn’t have let her go like that but whatever. Also I will be referring to Bond from now on with he/him pronouns and if u have a problem with that, idk what to tell you. Liam really told Romeo that fls lap is his territory ‼️ Ik that cat wanted to scratch his fathers face off after that. Liam is lucky tho that Albert wasn’t there when he fell asleep because imagine he saw the hickey fl gave him 💀

[chihoshisai]

A Lonely Flower Amidst a Garden

Chapter 2

Pairing : Mycroft x Reader / Word count : 1395 / Genre : Fluff and lighthearted

A/N : I recommend listening to "everyday is a gift" by Yuki Kajiura (it's quite short so put it on repeat!) / you can find Chapter 1 here / the amount of time I spent looking up pastries let alone furniture name is embarassing oops / i'm turning this into a full fic so there will be more parts :)

------------------------------------------------------

You remained as a simple yet pleasant memory in Mycroft’s mind as the young lady he met on a rainy day - Mary Poppins - surprising himself by watching the movie that same night. From time to time he found his mind wandering back to this day, replaying the conversations over and over. However, time can be evil. It didn’t take long for him to fall back into his work routine whilst dealing with the stunts his brother Sherlock pulled here and there. 

That day, Mycroft sat in his office, taking a look at a flyer advertising a limited edition of multiple exclusive bavarois’. Under normal circumstances, he would have tasked Anthea to fetch it for him, not being fond of frequenting such places. Though, as it was a high end tea room, he convinced himself that it wouldn’t be too bad. He would simply have a tranquil afternoon tea after work and leave. On his way, the already ashen sky of London started to darken even more. It seemed as though rain was on its way. 

As expected, the line was quite lengthy. Mycroft didn’t need to concern himself with the way of the common people - waiting in line -  as he exited his car, making his way towards the entrance. At this moment, you came running, a look of desperation on your face, being late to an event you had been looking forward to for so long, dreading the long line that was ahead. 

“Why did matters at home had to take so long?!” You complained without noticing the man that was currently stepping out of his car. You abruptly stopped in your tracks, almost bumping into him. 

“I’m so sorry.” You glanced at the tall figure standing who, also taken aback, shot an annoyed look in your direction before his expression changed to that of surprise. At this moment, the feelings Mycroft felt on that rainy day came back to him. Curiosity. There you were, standing right in front of him, looking just as startled. 

“Well, hello again. Fancy meeting you here.” Mycroft couldn't help but give you a warm smile. Suddenly getting to know each other didn’t seem entirely impossible. 

“Ah… yes.” You hadn’t forgotten him, but didn’t feel thrilled to see him again. After all, it was naught but a chance encounter. Given the circumstances in which you met, you would have done the same for anyone. You turned your head away, fiddling with your fingers, looking at the fancy tea room exterior, remembering what you were here for. “Are you also here for the limited edition bavarois?” You inquired, slowly pointing towards the property. 

Seeing as you were not returning the same energy as him, Mycroft suddenly felt himself becoming a little disheartened. Well it had been 2 months since your last encounter so it was to be expected.  

“Indeed I am. If you’d like, you could enter with my company so as to avoid this tremendous line. It just so happens that I have a special VIP access to the event. Unless of course, you would like to wait in line?” He made his way to the door, opening it while giving you a look so as to know your answer. You did not waste a second and followed him inside to the many grunts and protestations of the people who had to wait. 

A chandelier was hanging from the ceiling while the place looked extravagant in velvet colors. You learned his name as he presented himself and his reservation to the reception, not thinking much of it. VIP rooms were upstairs, as you followed Mycroft. “Looks like we both have something in common.” You said from behind him as a matter of fact. Mycroft smiled to himself before turning his head in your direction. “It appears so.” You both entered a square shaped room that had two chesterfield sofas with a freshly polished knee high wooden table and various yellow lights arborhing the walls.  

You both sat down as the menu was brought to you. “Order anything you like. It’s on me, as thanks for last time.” He gave you a polite smile. You curled your lips into something that resembled one while uttering a thank you. 

You looked at the menu seriously, pretending to decide between the 5 bavarois flavors offered. You already knew which one you wanted ; the problem was that you could feel Mycroft’s stare at you. Used to such behavior from people, you decided to ignore it. To Mycroft, in this lavish room something stood out to him. You didn’t seem out of place. In fact you seemed to fit right in, as he took a closer look at the pale red knee-length dress you were wearing, the ankle socks and Mary Jones shoes, he realised that everything was expensive. You didn’t seem bothered by the extravagant look of the room either. You weren’t part of the popular mass and that intrigued him more. Which part of high society did you belong to? He was itching to know. 

“Have you decided?” You raised your eyes from the menu, wanting to put a stop to the scrutinizing. 

“Indeed I have, it will be chocolate for me. You?” Mycroft closed the menu, having already decided from the start too. “Strawberry for me.” As usual, your manner of speaking was flat. Both of you ordered, and your dessert came almost as soon as the waiters left with your orders. 

“How is your arm? Healed by now I suppose?” It was the only thing you could possibly think of. You were almost inhaling your bavarois as you spoke - almost as if you were eager to finish it - giving furtive looks to Mycroft from time to time.  

“Very well thank you.” He paused, evidently taking notice of your eating behavior, and feeling more and more curious as to why you were in such a hurry. “Will you tell me your name this time?” 

“Oh yeah, it’s… Strawberry Shortcake.” You took another bite of your strawberry flavored bavarois intently keeping eye contact whilst silent fell for a moment. Mycroft couldn’t help but scoff at this. Seeing as you were trying so hard to keep your identity a secret made him eager to know it all the more. You on the other hand were quite confused by his reaction. You didn’t think of yourself as funny, but trying to make sense of people’s reactions was no concern of yours anymore. 

Rain started splattering the windows of the yellow lit room. You longingly looked at it, realising you didn’t bring an umbrella in your rush to get here. “I should get going.” You stood up, having finished what you came to try and feeling satisfied with it. Food truly tastes better when it’s free and even better when it’s shared in company. 

“So soon? We’ve only just got here.” Mycroft seemed a little distraught by your sudden departure. 

“Yes, I must go. Thank you for today. It’s been a pleasure.” You made your way to the door and clutched its handle. “We’ve met two times by chance now and third time’s the charm they say.” You turned your head to look back at him. “If this is fate and not a coincidence, I shall tell you my name on our third encounter.” You opened the door and left without even hearing his reply. 

Mycroft sat there. Speechless and caught off guard. You were so mysterious, unwilling to open up - albeit the fact that you were still strangers - yet there seemed to be more about you than meets the eye. At this moment, Mycroft wanted to return to his office and search everything there was about you but settled himself. A third encounter. A third encounter was all he needed and sure enough, it didn’t take long for it to happen. 

2 weeks later, one of the most prominent families in the country was holding a party. Mycroft being ‘a part of’ the government was forced to attend much to his apprehension. As he entered the mansion, you were there, standing next to the other members of that family, greeting guests as they entered with your usual flat tone and blank expression. In due time Mycroft stood before you. Your vacant face became one of astonishment, as he greeted you with his usual smile. You failed to reply for you did not believe in fate. 

[mimisempai]

Breathe

Summary

It takes no less than a coalition between Anthea and Greg to try to make Mycroft understand that he sometimes has the right to leave his duty to rest. Will he let himself be convinced?

Notes

Mystrade Monday  1.0  #15 - “Well, you’re coming home with me whether you like it or not.”

@mystradepromptsandscenarios

On Ao3

Rating G - 899 words

"Anthea."

The young woman poked her head through the half-open door and asked, "Boss?"

Mycroft sighed, "Could you call Detective Lestrade for me and tell him not to expect me tonight?"

Anthea replied, "Again, boss?"

Mycroft winced and replied, "I know."

Anthea insisted, "I suppose you don't want to tell him yourself because you know he'll insist you come home, right?" She didn't let Mycroft answer and continued, "You know, you're lucky Detective Lestrade is accommodating."

Mycroft sighed again and replied, "Anthea, just do as I say and that's all."

"As you wish, you're the boss..." muttered Anthea before closing the door.

Mycroft knew that Anthea was right and that Greg was really patient. One could argue that he could be, since he too never spared his working hours, but Mycroft was also aware that he was exaggerating these days.

However, his job was what it was and even if he had learned to delegate a little more, there were still many things that were his responsibility.

Only right now, he felt that the more he did, the more he had to do. It was a vicious circle he couldn't get out of.

A moment later, still lost in his work and thoughts, he gasped as two arms wrapped around his waist and a voice said softly in his ear, "May I request an audience with Mr. Mycroft Holmes?"

Mycroft turned as Greg stepped back to make room and then asked, surprised that he hadn't even heard him enter, "What are you doing here?"

Greg replied as if it were obvious, "Well, you're coming home with me whether you like it or not."

Mycroft protested, "But I told you I was coming home later."

Greg replied with a small smile, "Technically, you told Anthea to tell me. Besides, you really should treat her better, she deserves better than to play messenger."

"I know... But..." Mycroft pointed to what he was doing, "...Greg, I really have a lot of work to do."

Greg asked quietly, "Do you have to do it now, like immediately? Will the world descend into chaos if you put it off until later?"

Mycroft pursed his lips stubbornly and turned away from Greg.

He only noticed Anthea's presence when Greg addressed her, "Anthea, can what Mr. Holmes is doing now wait?"

Mycroft sighed in exasperation, "Greg..."

Anthea replied bluntly, "Absolutely, Detective Lestrade."

Mycroft turned and replied with a scowl, "I take it this is a conspiracy?"

Greg approached and, placing his hands on Mycroft's shoulders, said quietly, "Let's just say it's a joint effort by people who care about you, so come home with me."

"Greg..." Mycroft whispered one last time, but feeling that he had lost the argument, he dropped his head on Greg's shoulder and wrapped his arms around his waist.

Anthea sighed in relief as she walked away. It was about time someone talked some sense into her boss.

"Let's go home," Greg repeated quietly, then, taking Mycroft's hand, he continued, "Tonight we'll pretend we're a normal couple with normal working hours. We'll have dinner together and watch some TV, or you'll read to me. Then I'll take you to bed and remind you why it's good for you to come home a little more often before I fall asleep. You'll rhetorically protest that you're the British government, that you can't put your duty second, and I'll tell you that I know that, and that I'll never ask you to. With that little argument, we'll go to bed together, fall asleep together, although if you want to do anything other than sleep right now, I'm open to suggestions." Greg paused to give him a not-so-subtle wink before continuing, "Tomorrow we'll wake up together, have breakfast together, and you can return to your duty in perfect health.

Mycroft chuckled, and even though it was a very small chuckle, Greg was glad to see that he had managed to lighten his lover's mood a bit. He leaned over and kissed him lightly before taking both of his hands and pulling him behind him, "Come on, let me take you home."

"Alright..." Mycroft agreed, letting his lover pull him along. 

A little later, they were walking hand in hand down the sidewalk to their apartment, like a normal couple walking home from work. As they entered, Mycroft took Greg in his arms and pulled him close, whispering "I love you" before kissing him, showing him how grateful he was for what he had done for him.

The rest of the evening and night went as Greg had planned, they ate together, Mycroft read while Greg rested against him, they bickered a bit, fell asleep together, and indeed, when Mycroft walked through the door of his office the next day, he felt better than ever.

As soon as he arrived, he was greeted by Anthea.

"Good morning boss."

Mycroft nodded at her and said quietly, "Good morning to you...and thank you."

Then he walked forward and said in an energetic tone, swinging his umbrella forward, "Well, let's get to work."

He didn't see Anthea pick up her phone and type a message.

He just arrived.

Obviously in a 

very good mood.

A.

Sent 8:00 am

With pleasure.

It was a team effort.

😉

G.

Received 8:02 a.m.

Anthea smiled at the message, glad that she was no longer the only one supporting the boss.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Mystrade masterlist here

[possiblyimbiassed]

Metaphorical musings about BBC Sherlock

ETA: I now realise that this rambling got rather difficult to follow, so here’s a TL;DR with the points I’m trying to make:

Redbeard could still have been a dog - Victor’s dog - with all its metaphorical implications.

I think the ending of S4 is based on ages of nostalgical thinking from Conan Doyle’s audience, where ”it’s always 1895”.

But too fit in a truly modern adaptation, paradoxically, I think BBC Sherlock needs to align more with ACD Canon.

Canon didn’t end with Mary and two arguing men in 221B - it ended with Watson driving Holmes to a hotel in London.

This show seems to go in circles, but if we’re inside Sherlock’s head, he needs to wake up, get out of that loop and start living in the modern world (discarding the hetero norm of S4).

The recurring theme of “pilots” does, I believe, remind us of Sherlock’s and John’s relationship as it was presented in the Unaired Pilot.

The ‘pilot’ is also John Watson - the driver. He needs to live up to that.  

This was at first going to be an addition to @thewatsonbeekeepers’  excellent meta series about S4 from an EMP perspective, which ended with this little gem of very interesting metaphorical interpretations of TFP (X). But my addition got so lengthy that I thought it would be next to a crime to highjack their thread with it. :)  

@thewatsonbeekeepers‘ analysis makes a lot of sense to me on various levels, giving context and suggesting plausible interpretations to a lot of things that have been baffling me for a long time. But it also inspired me to look a bit closer on some running concepts of this show, as well as its (supposed) ending in relation to its very first beginning - the Unaired Pilot - and try to connect them metaphorically. Here are some of my own musings regarding their meta:

The Redbeard conundrum

We left off with about 20 minutes to go, as Sherlock is sinking into the black depths of his mind – the deepest we’re ever going to get as well as the darkest in colour, chiming with the rest of the series. And then – flashes of Eurus, Redbeard and young Sherlock bleeding in through his memory. @sagestreet’s meta argues that Victor Trevor could genuinely have been Sherlock’s first love even at that age, and I don’t dispute the possibility, but I do have an alternate reading for slightly later in age, based on one image alone. Jump back in your mind to TAB, when Mycroft tells Sherlock he was there for him the last time – we get a shot of a teenager in a drug den which is never repeated again, but which has a sense of absolute past trauma attached to it.

I totally agree with @sagestreet that every dog in this show represents homosexuality – every one of them, including Redbeard. But I also agree with @thewatsonbeekeepers that Victor Trevor could also have meant trauma to Sherlock a bit later in life than what we see in TFP. A metaphorical reading does not necessarily exclude a textual reading, I believe. I do have some problems, though, with the concept that was presented to us at the end of TFP: that Redbeard was supposedly not a dog, but rather Sherlock’s little friend Victor Trevor who died as a child. Because this doesn’t quite fit with the data, does it? Why couldn’t the name Redbeard have meant both the dog and the friend – and be a metaphor for Sherlock’s internalised homophobia?

I’m reluctant to buy the idea that all the flashbacks that Sherlock had of the word ‘Redbeard’ and/or this specific Irish setter with red fur - in HLV, TST, TLD and TFP - would exclusively be his mind’s substitution of a childhood friend who was murdered. The data we’re given seems rather more complex than that. Here’s a resume:

The concept of Redbeard was introduced already in TSoT, when Mycroft (Brain!Mycroft?) was warning Sherlock to ‘not get [emotionally] involved’ with John’s wedding. Sherlock answered with “I’m not a child anymore”, which suggests that ‘Redbeard’ occurred in his childhood.

In HLV the word “Redbeard” is assumed by Magnussen to be a trigger word for Sherlock. That would perhaps work if the dog were the thing in Sherlock’s life he had cared the most about. But if the thing that would trigger Sherlock’s psyche was actually his friend, why wouldn’t “Victor” be an even stronger trigger word?

Then we see the actual dog in Sherlock’s mind palace after he’s shot in HLV, where it’s implied that Redbeard was ‘put down’ (just like the inn-keepers in THoB claimed to have done with the Hound). 

In TAB we don’t see the dog, we only hear the muffled whimpers of Redbeard distracting Holmes in Sherlock’s drug-induced mind palace scenario, when Watson asks him about his feelings for women. 

The word ‘Redbeard’ is also scribbled on Mycroft’s note in the plane scene in TAB, after Mycroft (brain!Mycroft?) has declared that he will always be there for Sherlock.

In TST, when Sherlock is (supposedly) drugged by Mary, we see a dreamy scene with the Irish setter: 

and then we can see Victor Trevor playing pirates with little Sherlock and hear the dog bark at the same time. We can see from Victor’s checkered shirt in TFP that he’s the same little guy, but in TFP he wear’s the dog’s handkerchief:

In TLD, when Sherlock is on the brink of throwing himself into the Thames, we catch a very short glimpse of the same scene, repeating Eurus’ song from TST and TFP, as if to hammer the whole idea in: little Sherlock played pirates with a dog and a friend.

In TFP, Sherlock claims that Redbeard was his dog, who little Eurus locked up somewhere. But then adult Eurus reminds him in another scene that their father was allergic to dogs, so they were never allowed to have one.

Considering all these flashbacks, it seems rather as if Eurus – Sherlock’s gay trauma according to @thewatsonbeekeepers​  – is simply trying to get rid of the ‘dog’ – homosexuality – and claim that Victor was dead anyway, drowned in that same well where she was trying to drown John, so why keep bothering about the dog?

I strongly suspect that one of the main purposes with BBC Sherlock is to encourage the audience to actually read Conan Doyle’s stories about Sherlock Holmes – all 60 of them if possible. :-) Mofftiss haven’t exactly been true to ACD canon textually – in fact I think they have deviated miles and miles away from the original stories, especially in S4 (Watson never had a child, for example, and Mary Morstan was never an assassin. Watson naturally never ever beat up Holmes so he was hospitalised, that was extremely absurd). But on the other hand the subtext is very similar, I believe. I even think some of the metaphors are exactly the same, which our show might want to point out.

The name Redbeard is not mentioned in canon as far as I know, but Victor Trevor is, in The Gloria Scott (GLOR), and he’s not a child. Trevor was, according to Holmes, “the only friend I made during the two years I was at college”, so @thewatsonbeekeepers​’ reference to the scene in TAB with teenager Sherlock in a drug den as a traumatic event, possibly connected to an older Victor than in TFP, is very interesting. Holmes describes Trevor as “the only man I knew, and that only through the accident of his bull terrier freezing on to my ankle one morning as I went down to chapel.”

This is evidence that Victor Trevor did in fact have a dog, even if its name is not mentioned, and Holmes got bitten by it, which effectively tied him to Trevor. This seems to fit extremely well with @sagestreet​’s analogy. So if in our show Sherlock’s father was ”allergic” to dogs (meaning that Sherlock wasn’t allowed to express homosexuality), then Redbeard might actually still have existed belonging to Victor, right? And Victor may have named his dog after the pirate character he used to play with Sherlock. Maybe Sherlock loved Redbeard as if he were his own, and his friend too, but Redbeard might have been put down for some reason, symbolising the repression of Sherlock’s love for his friend? In GLOR, though, Victor Trevor doesn’t die; he moves to Terai, India, to a tea plantation… ;-)

Apart from playing pirates as a boy, in TFP we also see Sherlock hijack a fishing boat and actually become a pirate. I don’t think piracy is ever mentioned as such in canon, but the closest ACD comes to this is probably the story about Victor Trevor’s father – also referred to as ”the Governor”(!). In his youth, Mr Trevor (whose real name was actually James Armitage) got involved in criminality and ended up hijacking a ship – The Gloria Scott – where he participated in a mutiny which eventually blew up the ship in the middle of the ocean. Armitage was among the survivors, but so was Hudson, a man who later caused his death from fear when he threatened to expose his great secret. Considering that homosexuality was regarded a crime in Doyles’ time, I think this points to Victor’s father being a gay man pressured with exposure.

The need for a new start

As for the ending of TFP, I’m still totally baffled by it, after all these years. I think it has been likely to produce cognitive dissonance (X) in the audience, which is probably one of the reasons that so many fans felt uncomfortable after S4. To me, it’s hugely contradictory in a logical sense, and I’ve always had problems trying to wrap my head around the very different messages that I think it sends out.

On one hand, as @thewatsonbeekeepers so brilliantly explains in their meta, Sherlock has finally managed to connect his heart with his brain, going through all the mental trials from his metaphorical sister in TFP. He has also re-built his home and he and John are symbolically running out of ‘Rathbone Place’ (and by association all the old adaptations) in the final scene. Which points to there being room for new, modern things to happen in their story, no longer just ’business as usual’.

On the other hand we have comphet!Mary’s final voiceover about the legend and the non-importance of who Sherlock and John really are, which didn’t at all ring true to me in a logical sense. Why would Sherlock go to all this trouble of finding his true self, connecting heart with brain etc, if it didn't even matter?  And why would a ghost, who didn’t even experience TFP while alive, be allowed to take over the role as storyteller and have the final word? I think this speaks for some huge un-solved problems and ‘lose ends’ that are not at all tied together properly - neither on the text-, subtext- or meta-levels.

And - what’s even more important in my opinion - Sherlock and John seem to be frozen in time in the final scene. 

We’re told by comphet!Mary that “...there are two men sitting arguing in a scruffy flat... like they’ve always been there... and they always will.” In TFP, the address 221B Baker Street is described as a kind of eternal institution which people - even Mycroft - turn to as a last resort, when everything else fails. The flat is rebuilt and some piece of furniture is changed, but nothing is modernized. Even the smiley face on the wall, on which Sherlock shot holes in his fit of frustration in TGG, is painted again and done the exact same thing to. But as everyone loves the place, no one protests. Status quo is reestablished.

This may be the conclusion of many adaptations, but it’s not what happened in canon, is it? This is not even remotely similar to the original ending. In ACD canon, it’s not “always 1895″, as so many readers through the ages have nostalgically claimed. Canon’s LAST ends in 1914 - almost 20 years later - with Holmes and Watson driving away together in a car, with Watson at the wheel. Byt that time, Holmes is no longer living at Baker Street - he has retired. In fact, there’s a whole story (LION) where Holmes is now living in Sussex close to the sea, in spite of his earlier statements about how much he dislikes the countryside. So in canon, he spends his time there (when he’s not on super-important spying missions for the government). And in LAST there are even some indications that Watson and Holmes are heading for a hotel room in London - not 221B. I have tried to expand on these conclusions in a recent comment on @sagestreet‘s last meta (X), providing some circumstantial evidence that might be interesting. ;-)

I’m not sure about @thewatsonbeekeepers’ claim that their meta has “just been an academic exercise”. While we don’t have any solid evidence of a pending S5 at this point, logical reasoning - and ACD Canon - still tells me that TFP must not necessarily be the end of the show. If Sherlock is in a coma, any future new content needs for him to wake up, he needs to open his eyes in the show’s reality, for TFP to ever make sense on a plot level. For what’s the point of having a story go in circles? (I tried to analyse the significance of time in BBC Sherlock here (X) some time ago).

Sherlock Holmes and codes

I really like @thewatsonbeekeepers’ musings about Greg Lestrade’s name and the implication of Sherlock suddenly having it right in TFP:

This is tied into Sherlock’s inability to move beyond the mistakes of canon – we see this weird inability to stick in modern Sherlock’s universe in other ways too, like the slightly old-fashioned nature of his costume (passed off as ‘timeless’, but clearly belonging to old as much as modern times), the deerstalker situation, thinking England has a king, not knowing the earth goes around the sun, not knowing Madonna, seeming to forget who Thatcher is – the list goes on, but Greg is the most constant one. Calling him Greg is a symbol that Sherlock has broken out of the confines of all of the past Sherlocks and has completely slipped into the modern version – which is exactly where he needs to be.

I totally agree that this is where he needs to be, and I also agree about Sherlock’s clothing here. I seem to recall ACD’s Watson talks about “a certain quiet primness of dress” in Holmes, which most probably meant a suit, something that our modern Sherlock seems to still use as signature clothing as well, which might appear a bit unnecessarily formal today. But let’s not forget that in the Gay Unaired Pilot, Sherlock was wearing black jeans and a rather more casual shirt with rolled-up sleeves:

Overall, I got a more “modern” feeling from Sherlock’s looks and behavior in the Pilot than in the rest of the show. I think code is significant in BBC Sherlock, and this goes for ACD Canon as well. And I believe that “pilot” might be one of the more important code words, as I tried to explain in this meta about codes a couple of years ago (X).

In TFP, the “Golf” in “Golf-Whisky-X-ray” (the message that Sherrinford picks up from Sherlock’s and John’s highjacked boat) literally means “I require a pilot” in marine signals - a marine pilot, that is. Which metaphorically might suggest that Sherlock needs someone to help him navigate their ‘ship’ through the dangerous waters (= emotions).

There’s also the sleeping pilot in TFP, who little Eurus - probably representing a part of Sherlock - can’t seem to wake up. She requires a pilot to land safely, but for some reason she calls him “the driver” instead of “the pilot”. 

A pilot’s uniform with four stripes on it means the rank of Captain, right? (X) And who do we know who is a military Captain? Why, Captain John Watson, of course, from Fifth Northumberland Fusillers! :-)

In the unaired Pilot Jeff Hope - one of several John mirrors in this show - drives Sherlock home in his cab, instead of to Roland Kerr’s Further Education College as in ASiP. This journey ends at 221B where Hope tries to kill Sherlock with poison, which is stopped by John who shoots Hope (and we don’t see Sherlock stomping on his wound in the Pilot, probably making his aneurysm burst; in Pilot it’s just John). So that would basically be ‘John killing John’, which @thewatsonbeekeepers​ presents as a risk in TFP - the risk that makes Sherlock realize that he needs to open his eyes and save John Watson from killing himself. 

I agree, but I also want to focus a bit on John killing himself being a clear risk already from day one in BBC Sherlock. In their second meta of the series (X), @thewatsonbeekeepers​ also mentions this:

‘Did you miss me?’ works for both of those layers – the danger John is in from criminals is something that was really apparent in s1 and 2, but John’s endangerment from suicide is also something that was there at the beginning of the series. Sherlock changed these things – and didn’t realise he was the changing factor, but something in his subconscious is telling him that with him gone, John Watson is once again in danger.

Most of us probably thought that John had found a far better use for the gun in his drawer in the first episode of the show when he killed a villain instead of himself with it. But looking at it metaphorically, this course of events maybe wasn’t that good either. In canon’s first story STUD, Jefferson Hope dies from an aneurysm - close to the heart; not to the brain as in ASiP, and not from a gunshot at all. Both metaphorically and literally, Hope died from a broken heart. Rather than a villain, he was an avenger who killed two criminals who had caused the death of his loved one and her father and got away with it.

As far as I can recall, in ACD’s stories neither Watson nor Holmes ever shoots anyone, with one exception: they shoot Tonga, the little guy threatening them with poisoned arrows in SIGN. Who I feel pretty sure is meant to represent Cupido, the little guy with the love arrows, of whom ACD wrote this poem (X).  They shoot Tonga, the Agra treasure is lost and as a result of that, Watson marries Mary Morstan instead of staying with Holmes. And then she becomes Mary Watson (representing the heteronormative concept of ’marry Watson’). Love (between Holmes and Watson, I presume) is presented as a bad, toxic guy in canon. 

And in BBC Sherlock Jeff Hope is presented as a bad, toxic guy. The little guy with the arrows being a villain is also mentioned in TSoT, which is drawing from SIGN. In a flashback related by Sherlock at John’s wedding, we see a very small guy chasing John and Sherlock over a rooftop, trying to hit them with darts from his blowpipe. This case is never explained in the show, but from John’s online blog (case called “The Poison Giant”) we learn about a very short jewel thief called James Swandale, who had killed people with poisoned darts. He and his giant friend also tried to kill John and Sherlock (note the symbolism here), but they never got to know why. Metaphorical meanings throughout canon, picked up by BBC Sherlock. 

Already in ASiP Sherlock claims he can identify “an airline pilot by his left thumb”. In the unaired Pilot, however, the pilot’s thumb for some odd reason was instead “a retired plumber’s left hand” (the rest of the quote is identical between the Pilot and ASiP). And, as @kateis-cakeis pointed out long ago, the whole filming of the Pilot is mirrored in ASiP; every single scene these two similar episodes have in common is reversed and reflected like a mirror. As far as I can see ASiP references the Pilot.

And then we have the female pilot in TAB, who comes to ask Sherlock if he had a “pleasant flight” after his OD trip on the plane. 

Four stripes = Captain, right? John. Turns out she very much resembles Lady Carmichael from his MP adventure. (And still I think we have good reason to believe that both characters were only occurring in Sherlock’s EMP).

All in all, I think this points to the concept of “pilot” being an important element to set things right in this show, and that of course has to do with John; he’s the ‘driver’. Some of us have even been discussing that this show seems to go in circles with lots of recurring themes. Canon doesn’t end with 221B; it starts with it. So the full circle is closed with TFP, unlike canon. But returning to the Pilot and things as they were between Sherlock and John at the end of that episode, could also mean the beginning of a new course of their relationship. A version that was never allowed to be shown before because of homophobia, but that new course would ultimately be more consistent with canon, rather than with people’s nostalgic perception of canon for 100+ years. 

@thewatsonbeekeepers mentioned in their other meta about TFP (X) that the Governor of Sherrinford is a John mirror, who lost his authority when Eurus - the ‘gay trauma’ part of Sherlock - managed to manipulate him. The Governor ends up shooting himself - ‘John killing John’ (again). And indeed John’s character seems a bit weak as a doctor in S4. For example is his competence questioned by both Culverton and Sherlock in TLD (but Sherlock still wanted to be examined by John earlier in TLD :) ). This is consistent with canon’s DYIN, where Holmes horribly manipulated Watson to believe he had a disease that was “contagious by touch” and even insulted his competence (“you are only a general practitioner with very limited experience and mediocre qualifications”), in order to set a trap for Culverton Smith.

So my conclusion is that Sherlock’s manipulations of John - especially faking his own death after TRF - might have played a part in John’s lost authority and even in him being suicidal. But my point with all this rambling is that maybe John is meant to regain the lead now, to “buck up a bit” as Mrs Hudson puts it in TLD, before he’s finally allowed to be behind the wheel of her fast sports car. Maybe things will sort themselves out once Sherlock starts to break out from the circle and finally be honest with John, even let John take the lead, without fear of losing him to the villains, and once John starts to regain confidence in himself and who he really is. If they (and we) don’t need any ‘further education’ at Roland Kerr’s, John can simply drive Sherlock home now, wherever that is. :-)

@raggedyblue​ @sarahthecoat​ @gosherlocked​ @sagestreet​ @ebaeschnbliah​

[destinationtoast]

First-lines-of-fic meme! I was tagged by the fabulous @kiraziwrites

Rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written fewer than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway

1. Stamped with the immediacy of a lip (Ted Lasso, 679 words):

They kiss—holy shit, they kiss—and Jamie can't believe it, but he's the one who pulls back first, who pushes Roy away.

2. All awkward-shaped with no explanation (Ted Lasso, 4K):

Jamie takes Roy and Keeley home to meet his mum, like to Meet His Mum, because they’ve all been seeing each other for a while now.

(lol, I didn't realize that I started both of my most recent stories with a sentence containing a clause that repeats something for emphasis! 😄🤷)

3. Aesthesis (House of the Dragon, 1K):

I go back and forth about whether you are aware of my visits to your father’s chambers.

4. Outgrow the shoes of expectations (Ted Lasso, 63K):

When Jamie was young, he would stare at the poster on his wall and fantasize about playing football with Roy Kent. 

(Contrary to how it appears, the majority of the words of Ted Lasso fic I've written are not actually from Jamie POV... but the first chapters often are! XD )

5. A new way forward (Star Wars, 721 words):

Rey stands in the sand, feels the warm wind brushing over her as she digs.

6. I can't go home but I want you (Hearts Beat Loud, 3K):

In her first quarter at college, Sam has her first roommate, her first B since middle school, her first enjoyable job, her first phone call to dad from more than a hundred miles away, her first solo performance, her first drunken hookup. She doesn’t have her first major breakup, because she and Rose took care of that before she left for UCLA.

7. And the bartender says, "I already know what you're having" (Sherlock, 1K):

“Good lord, why are there so many of him?”

8. The Case of the Meddling Siblings (Sherlock, 37K):

"Sir, there's one more thing that needs your attention -- I believe it's time to invoke Project Domino." Mycroft stared up at Anthea over his papers. "Harry Watson?"  

9. Take a Break (Hamilton, 3K):

“Alexander, no.”  He looks betrayed, hearing these words from me.  

10. Blame (Sherlock, 1K):

It was all Sherlock’s fault, really. The kiss was colder than I would have expected. Wetter, and redder. Tangier. Quieter, also, than I would have expected -- except for the ringing.

Anyone who wants to play, please do! I love seeing these. :) Tagging @wildwren, @aadmelioraa, @nottonyharrison, @shinysherlock, @lilalbatross, @beingatoaster, @thetimemoves, @bakerstmel, @porcupine-girl, @x-populuxe (unless you tagged me in this same meme a bit ago, which I think you might have XD )

[thebadboyfanclub]

It’s Alright Darling (Sherlock x Reader)

Ok... Was this requested? No. Am I writing it cause anything Henry Cavill related makes me feel happy? Yes. Enjoy!

Being Sherlock Holmes assistant was something a lot of people would kill for and that makes it even better if you think about the irony of it. However, since Sherlock wasn’t a normal person to mostly everything he did, he had decided to hire a woman as his assistant, Mycroft called him mad and unhinged almost every time he brought up her name. (Y/n) was one of the most intelligent people he had ever been around, combining that with a charming personality was the recipe to success.

“Well, well, well I see my brother is full of surprises”

“Hello there Mycroft is so nice to see you again as well”

She spoke in an clearly ironic tone as she took of her gloves, she was never a fan of hats other than the occasions she knew she would be under the sun for hours. As she walked in the living room area for what seemed like their childhood home, Sherlock had requested for (y/n) to arrive a day later than the brothers, knowing that her and his older brother were like oil and water he chose to “prepare the grounds” first.

“Where is the young little Holmes?”

“Inside, talking with miss Harrison”

“Alright... who is miss Harrison?”

“Miss Harrison is an excellent teacher and a friend of mine, come to think of it maybe you should go in and ask her to take you as well... you might be a bit old but I’m sure she can make an exception”

Mycroft found (y/n) intolerant, she was dismissive, unladylike, mouthy and a feminist, he still does not understand what asset do she brought to his younger brother. She only smiled while sitting at one of the chairs

“I will let you know I was an excellent student in all my academic achievements, although I suppose you were one as well that doesn’t really prove someone’s intelligence or manners, right mister Holmes?”

Sherlock let a laugh be heard at (y/n)’s quick response, even though he would never take sides and sometimes wanted them to get along, he had accepted that it would never happen and simply enjoyed the situation.

“Amused brother? Of course you are as mad as her since you didn’t only hire her, you kept her around and brought her in my home”

“Now Now mister Holmes, what type of gentleman would you be if you threaten to through out not just a lady but your younger brothers guest, unfortunately you are just further proving my point about our little quarrel”

Before he had the chance to respond a young girl walked in, wearing a white undergarment dress and looking disheveled. The girl who (y/n) could only assume was the infamous Enola didn’t even notice her being in this room.

“No, don’t do this to me. Let me remain happy, I am happy here”

“You are a young woman now Enola, you need an education”

“Test me, on anything you think I need to know in order to be sufficient for this world”

“If she taught you so well, you wouldn’t be standing in your undergarment in front of me”

Silence fell in the room for a quick second. His disgusting answer to his own sister made (Y/n) get on her feet, Enola quickly let her gaze fall on the young woman that was now in her house.

“Why is that a problem Mister Holmes? Undergarments are scandalous for the men when a woman they are interested in wears them, she is your underaged sister”

“This is a family matter, it does not- I repeat- does not concern you”

“Of course it does not concern me, but it does concern me when a young girl is being held accountable for walking in her home, to her brothers, completely covered and still being shamed for it”

Enola understood by that quick argument the lady was not here because of Mycroft, so it only meant she was Sherlocks company, she is not his wife since if not invited he would have at least informed their mother, so perhaps a girlfriend?

“Enola you have no hopes of making a husband out of your state, neither do you... miss (y/l/n)”

“I don’t want a husband”

Enola claimed, raising her voice at the ridiculous claim her brother made. Even though they haven’t been properly introduced they had developed a mutually liking for each other, at a brief look they seemed to have the same outlook on life.

“And that is another thing you need to have educated out of you”

At that Enola turned to look at her other brother, Sherlock, who had remained radio silent throughout this entire conversation. Enola kneeled in front of him, as Sherlock looked at her and then broke eye contact to look down at the book he was holding.

“Sherlock, Don’t let him do this to me”

“You are his ward”

“Make me yours. Guide me. Teach me. For him I am nuisance. For you-”

“Enola. I’m sorry, but it’s out of my hands”

“Just like his cruelty to our mother was out of your hands”

Cruelty to their mother? No, Sherlock would have never allowed his mother to go through anything, he is a man of honor... isn’t he? (Y/n) felt her stomach tighten as she saw this tragic scene unravel, she hoped Sherlock would have accepted and took her in.

“She is not dangerous. She is remarkable and always has been. And if you still can’t see that then shame on you both”

“So remarkable she left you in my care”

Mycroft shot back. (Y/n) could almost feel the pain the young girl felt, you could see it in her eyes how that was an arrow straight in her heart. (Y/n) decided to step up and try to help, she approached the young girl with a kind smile and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Come on, let’s get you out of here to calm down. Seems like your brothers don’t share the same love and admiration you do for the woman that made them who they are”

“I am a self made successful man”

“but you wouldn’t be no man if the woman you frown upon had not broken her hips and went through hours of painful labor. Take that as some food for thought before you school me on my manners”

Sherlock looked at her in awe, as she stood proudly next to his sister and became the shield he should have been. Standing up for a girl you haven’t even spoken to or knew before this.

“Let’s go young Enola, seems like a woman’s presence is wanted here only when she does as she is told”

-

“Come in”

“Can I open this door and be promised that I will remain safe or are you holding a dagger and you are ready to take me out of this world?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, dagger you in your own household? I would probably wait to poison you a few days after we leave and write the paperwork of you firing me”

He smiled at her plan as he closed the door in her room. It was already nightfall and the only light here were a few candles, he had let her take a breather after the unfortunate event that had occurred previously. Even though he wasn’t the one that she went toe to toe with, his silence was as obnoxious to her as his brothers loud ignorance towards the female gender.

“You are upset”

“Of course not, why would I be? It’s not like you let that man embarrass his own sibling and talk down to his mother without her being in the room”

She had remained sited in the chair next to the table, a book open that seemed like she was writing on rather than reading it. He was aware she was holding a journal, he didn’t blame her for it, having a job like she did she was in desperate need of something to keep her sane.

“This is a very wary subject”

“I am aware of it, I just can’t seem to understand why not comfort her, try to change your brothers opinion, anything that will show you care for her, you do care for her, right Sherlock?”

“She is my baby sister (y/n), that’s a given”

She closed her book. She ran her hand through her  through her hair and got up from her sit, her hands going in front of her torso at a defensive demeanor, even when Sherlock should be cold or show his higher position to her, he couldn’t help but seek some type of truce with her, how could he not? She looked so beautiful even when she mad at him, the eyes he was so caught up in looked at him with fury, her delicate feature went harsh and she was dressed more... lightly now.

“I spoke with her earlier, she was in the garden”

“I know, I saw.”

“She asked me about you, asked me if you were my lady”

Her eyes went wide for a split second before regaining her composer and turned her back to him. She approached the window before she spoke.

“If you think of how she became familiar with me, she was probably certain I wasn’t even friends with your holier than God brother”

“You mustn't be angry at me”

“And why is that?”

“Because other than my sister and mother, I care for you and for your opinion about me”

She remained silent. Not only because she was caught off guard by his comment, she also didn’t know what he was talking about. Sherlock stepped closer to her, his steps making her heart flutter and her palms sweaty. He stopped when he was right behind her, he wanted to hug her, caress her, kiss her, still he was uncertain of how she would react.

“I still remember the night you got kidnapped”

Someone that Sherlock had helped uncover had escaped prison and kidnapped her. Luckily, she was retrieved safely yet again she was still shaken up by the scary experience, when Sherlock found her awake next to the fireplace she was so vulnerable and grateful to be alive she launched at him and kissed him passionately.

He shared his bed with her, in the middle of the night though she had gotten up and left, when morning came she acted like nothing had happened, barely even looked at him in the eyes for a week.

“Please Sherlock don’t pick at my brain”

“Why did you leave that night? Did you regret it that much”

“That night... was the most blissful I have ever been.... However you are still my boss Sherlock”

“That’s all I am to you? Your boss?”

(Y/n) turned to look at him, tears welling up in her eyes. Those eyes would be the death of him, it was with no doubt the window to her soul, that pure gentle soul of hers.

“What am I to you then Sherlock? This wasn’t just about me”

“You are.... what I never knew I needed”

His hands went up to her forearms instinctively, a soft caress that made her think his hands were made out of the finest silk, she felt goosebumps as he touched her. Her lips parted slightly as she took in a heavy breath, her eyes searching for a hint of a lie in his words.

“Sherlock”

“Shhhhh, It’s alright darling. You don’t have to say anything”

At that he slowly leaned in, his lips on top of hers at a shy and gentle kiss. Her hand went to his neck, bringing her torso to touch his as the kiss deepened, her entire body felt a rush go through it as they should the passion they held for each other with this kiss. As she pulled back her fingertips traveled to his face, taking in his attractive features

“I had almost forgotten how good of a kisser you are”

“Oh love, you will never forget it ever again”

[fncreature]

Y/n, I am your father

You find out a not-so-nice secret

A/n: Just dumping out some stories (I wrote on a doc that's way too long) so here we go, sorry that it kinda sucks. I had just read the Baker Street Irregulars and finished when I wrote it, so...

~

You nodded silently, and Mycroft pretended to roughly shove you into the room.

Moriarty’s eyes widened.

Mycroft didn’t tell you why he needed you for info, you just liked helping Sherlock and Mycroft asked you to.

“So” Mycroft started, his voice stronger than before. “Where?”

“I’ll never tell” But his voice had lost it’s usual teasing tone.

It was actually slightly… Scared?

Mycroft pulled the gun slightly out of his pocket and gave him a look.

No response.

You knew what was coming, he had warned you.

In a second, the gun was pressed on your temple.

“DON’T” He shouted.

“Well?” Mycroft asked.

“No” Moriarty replied. “You’d never shoot an innocent”

You just stared straight ahead, after working with Sherlock for a few years, you learned the art of faking fear.

And it was convincing. There were silent tears flowing down your cheeks, and a pleading look in your eyes.

The safety clicked off.

You pretended to start breathing a bit harder.

“Don’t” He pleaded. “Don’t shoot her”

“Well?” Mycroft repeated.

“Fine” He sighed. “Fine, just get her out of here”

Mycroft pretended to shove you out once again.

You still had honestly no idea what was going on.

Sherlock and John were waiting outside.

“So is anyone gonna tell me why I was just used to threaten the Napoleon of crime?” You asked.

“He wouldn’t even understand why” John joked.

“Is that just because he’s a psycho-”

“Sociopath” Sherlock corrected.

“Sociopath or because he doesn’t know basic knowledge?” You finished.

“Sociopath” John answered with no hesitation.

“Well then I could probably-”

“It’s not something you should know at thirteen” John interrupted.

“So… I’m mature enough to help solve murders that Scotland Yard can’t, but because I’m thirteen, I’m too young to know that I’m the kid of Moriarty?” Shocked stares were given to you by both.

The rest of the walk was silent.

When you got there, you asked “So is anyone gonna tell me if I’m right or not? I’m new to this observation thing”

Silence.

“Why am I not allowed to know that I’m related to a murderer? I feel like it would be easier to cope with if I know for sure” You asked angrily.

Once again no response from them, who were both staring at you at this point.

“Fuck you” A few tears ran down your cheeks. “Fuck both of you” You grabbed your scarf off of the hook and ran out.

You wandered around for a few hours. You checked your phone every time they called in case it was a friend, or Mycroft or Lestrade, since they sometimes called you or John because who knew when Sherlock had his phone on him, even less likely that he’d even answer.

It was Sherlock or John, spamming your phone with calls for literally two hours straight.

When they finally stopped, you considered going back, it was getting pretty cold, but you decided against it.

You ignored your phone when it rang.

And again.

After the fifth time you checked it.

It was Mycroft.

“Fuck” You mumbled and picked up.

“I was getting worried” He said in a calm tone.

“Yeah, sorry, John and Sherlock were spamming my calls an hour ago” You sighed “I have over two hundred missed calls”

“Why?” Mycroft asked.

“It doesn’t matter” You replied.

“Then I assume you don’t want to talk about it” Mycroft said, and you sighed a sigh of relief. “Anyway, the reason I’m calling is that I’d like to say thank your help on behalf of the british government for your help”

You grinned for a minute.

“I’ve got a meeting in-” “Is Moriarty my Dad?” You asked, unable to keep it off your chest.

He hung up.

It took all your will not to smash the phone on the ground.

You just sighed and shivered.

It was cold.

And it was getting dark.

You probably should have gone back. But you were mad. And spiteful, so you didn’t.

You sat on a bench crying for two hours or so.

The sky was black when you stopped.

You ate dinner at a restaurant and continued wandering around.

You overheard someone say “I hope Y/n’s alright” It was John’s voice.

So you started walking away.

“Is that Y/n?” Sherlock asked.

You started running.

“Y/N!” John called.

You started running faster.

“Y/N!” He shouted again.

It must have looked bad, the world’s greatest detective and his assistant running after a thirteen year old girl, and some people stood in between you and them (Sherlock shoved them aside)

Somehow they caught up to you, and John tried to grab your arm, which caused you to fall, and your knee was bleeding and your jeans torn.

Now you were cold, angry, hurt, and honestly a bit scared.

John just stared for a minute with Sherlock behind him, as if he didn’t know what he had just done.

You were crying.

Sherlock, who had no experience with human emotions, just watched.

John offered his hand to help you up, but you got up by yourself, and turned away from them and walked away.

Your knee hurt pretty bad, but you didn’t care.

They were calling your name, but you didn’t care.

You wanted the truth, and you couldn’t have that.

You just wanted to know that your father was even alive.

“Y’know you’re gonna need to sleep somewhere, right?” John called.

“Y’know I can stay awake for over forty-eight hours, right?” You shot back.

“Y/n” Sherlock said.

“Shutup” You mumbled.

“Y/n” Sherlock repeated. “It doesn’t matter what emotions you’re feeling, we need you to come back for your own safety”

“WHY?” You shouted angrily. “I’m not allowed to know who my Dad is, but I’m okay to be used as bait to Moriarty for information with no idea why, and I need to be taken back ‘for my own safety?’ I’ve had guns to my face before and I don’t care!”

The people there were probably in shock. There was a whole lot of blood on your knee.

“Y’know what, I’m willing to make a deal. Tell me if he’s my Dad or not and I’ll go back. Deal?”

Silence.

You walked away.

You went back to Baker street and convinced Mrs. Hudson to let you spend the night in 221C.

You woke up to some hard knocks on the door.

“Y/n” Sherlock said.

“Fuck you” You said groggily.

“Y/n, we need you in the flat.” Sherlock said, and he unlocked the door.

You were curled up in a ball with some gauze on your knee.

That’s how you fell asleep.

Your knee was hurting like heck.

“Are you alright?” John asked.

“Of course, I’m fine, last night was great” You grumbled sarcastically.

“Y/n for god’s sake I-”

“John, leave her alone” Sherlock interrupted, walking in and sitting down next to you. “She had a horrible night and now you’re going to ruin today for her as well”

“Thank you” You sniffled.

Sherlock smiled warmly. John looked surprised.

“Darling, look, I-”

‘I just want you guys to tell me the truth, okay? I- I’m getting good at the observation thing, and there’s no other reason, just tell me, okay?” You asked.

“He’s your father” Sherlock said blatantly. “It’s obvious, I actually assumed you knew sooner”

“Thanks Sherlock, she’s going to have a wonderful time trying to deal with that-”

“Thanks for telling me, anyway, you guys have those large band-aids in the flat, right?”

[girl-next-door-writes]

The Rules of Engagement

Characters: Mycroft Holmes x reader

Summary: Mycroft has decided he is going to woo you. The trouble is, he does tend to go about things in a very Mycroftian way.

Word Count: 1638 words

Prompt: “It was my first time having someone to spend Valentines with. I understand now.”

Mycroft was determined not to repeat mistakes. He was a man of intelligence, a man who either successfully avoided making errors, or learnt from them quickly. He was going to pursue you, that much he had decided upon, but how to go about it? There were traditional routes when courting a young lady, although he was not entirely sure this was still the case in the age of ‘online dating’. He shuddered at the thought of the way technology was now used, he had no desire whatsoever to send you a photograph of his genitals to declare his interest.

After much thought, he decided upon flowers. Thoughtful, conveying meaning, could be delivered without him having to be rejected to his face. Yes, flowers seemed the best way to go. Now, all he had to figure out was what he wanted the flowers to say? He could go with a dozen red roses, the meaning behind such a gesture was obvious, yet unoriginal. Mycroft wanted to dazzle you, to pull that brilliant smile to your lips, to leave you in no doubts as to how he felt about you.

Retreating into his mind palace, he pulled out a dusty book from the back of an ancient filing cabinet. Brushing it off, he smiled as the memory it held flooded back. Yes, this would do nicely. Standing beside a workbench, he began to pick flowers, placing them carefully into a glass vase. The bouquet held a mixture of white daisies, aster and heliotrope which symbolized that his love was true, and he was eternally devoted to you. This was a good start. Next, he added touches of blue. Cornflowers, hyacinths, and salvia, telling you that you would need to be gentle with him, that your loveliness charmed him, and he was unable to stop thinking of you. His fingers twitched as he looked at the creation before him. It was good, but there was something missing. Without really thinking about it, he placed in a smattering of red chrysanthemums. The white, blue and red made him smile, perhaps it would make you think of him before you had even read the card. Finally, he placed a single white lily, a red carnation, a red tulip and a beautiful red camellia into the mix. Now it looked complete. The finishing touches would tell you that his love for you was pure, that his heart ached for you, that this was, in fact, a declaration of his feelings and that you were a flame in his heart. Now, he could only hope a florist could recreate it in the realms of reality.

You had been sitting at your desk when the most stunning bouquet of flowers had arrived. The surprise on your face was plain to see when it was discovered that they were for you. The colours made you think of the rather charming gentleman you had spent not one, but two enchanting evenings with. They wouldn’t be from him, of course, he was probably going out with some impossibly tall, lithe, stunningly attractive supermodel type who was a doctor and devoted hours of her life to her various charities. Still, your eyes scanned the flowers for a card, your brow furrowing when you found none. A mystery then? That was intriguing. Placing them onto your desk, where they took up the majority of space, you couldn’t help but feel excited and nervous when you looked at them. Something about the arrangement had you feeling warm and fuzzy, but you couldn’t put your finger on it. Perhaps your admirer would reveal themselves, until then, you would attempt to keep the flowers alive as long as possible.

Mycroft knew you had received the flowers, so why had you not contacted him? He believed you to be the sort of person who would at least send a thank you message. Perhaps the flowers had not exactly had the desired effect, no matter, there were other tokens of his affection he could send. It was not your fault that you obviously hadn’t studied the Victorian language of flowers. Chocolates were his next thought. Everyone liked a box of chocolates, didn’t they? You deserved so much more than a box of Milk Tray, picked up from a local supermarket. No, he was going to pull out all the stops for this one.

Mycroft found himself torn between two options, after spending far longer than he should have narrowing them down. On one hand there was a stunning box from the Ross Limited collection, six unique pieces representing a natural element with their perfect geometric shape. A tetrahedron, octahedron, cube, icosahedron, dodecahedron, and a scope, each wrapped beautifully in gold and laid in a faceted sphere made from pure volcanic glass. On the other, renowned Swiss chocolatier Teuscher had the most incomparable Champagne Truffles. A duo of succulent truffles sitting side by side in an elegant deep purple box tied with a sumptuous ribbon.

The first option was, he had to admit, exorbitantly expensive at nearly £2000, but the second option would cost time and money to arrange shipping. Perhaps he had over thought it with the flowers, he would not make that mistake here. With a decisive nod, he began to arrange a very special delivery for you.

Upon returning from your lunch break, you saw a small purple box set carefully on your desk. With a raised eyebrow, you sat and looked at it closely. A soft satin ribbon wrapped around the box, holding the lid firmly in place. Curiosity got the better of you and your fingers tugged the end of the ribbon. Removing the lid, you saw two sumptuous truffles resting there. One covered in a dusting of milk chocolate while the other’s smooth dark chocolate shell practically glistened. Looking up, you glanced around to try and figure out who would have left you this. Perhaps it was someone’s birthday and they had got everyone a treat?

Delicately picking one of the chocolates up, you popped it into your mouth and let out a low moan, your eyes fluttering closed. Damn! These were practically sinful! The outer chocolate shell gave way to a dark heart of the most exquisite ganache, infused with a creamy concoction that you were completely unaware was Dom Perignon. As it melted on your tongue, you realised just how much of an aphrodisiac chocolate could be when someone put their mind to it. This was simply the most delicious thing you had ever placed in your mouth, and you were already mourning the fact that you would only get to experience it one more time as your eyes landed on the single chocolate sitting in the box. Once again, there was no note, but your mind couldn’t help but flit back to the handsome man who had been in your thoughts more often since your evening at the theatre. Despite your heart yearning for your mystery gift giver to be him, you were a realist, and surely if Mycroft Holmes sent a gift, he would ensure there was a message with it.

Your lack of communication in any form was driving Mycroft Holmes insane. He paced his study, glass of whiskey in his hand, hair disheveled, shirt sleeves rolled up. Was this silence your answer? Had you rejected him, or had he not been clear? Part of him was far too stubborn to ask at this point, he did not want to add to his humiliation, but what if you truly had not understood? The faint recollection of a snippet of conversation echoed in the back of his mind as his eyes landed upon his bookshelves.

“One last attempt.” He murmured to himself, ceasing his pacing as his eyes focused on a particular spine. “One more, and then I will be silent on this matter forever.”

They say things come in threes, you supposed that was why, upon walking into the office and seeing a beautiful gift box on your desk, you were not overly surprised. Taking a seat, you smiled to yourself, wondering what your mystery gift-giver had in store for you this time. The black satin sheened box was sealed with a gold ribbon, and you took a moment to admire the gift before getting to work opening it.

A gasp left your lips as your eyes widened. There, sitting in the softest silk you had ever felt, was a copy of Pride and Prejudice. Not just any copy, a swift bit of research on the internet would confirm, but the first illustrated edition, from 1833. With shaking hands, you cautiously picked up the book, not wanting to cause any damage to such a work of art. A piece of paper slipped from beneath the cover, and your heart momentarily stopped. Had a page fallen out? Had you damaged it already? Quickly placing it back in the box, your fingers picked up the errant paper from where it had fallen on the floor. The thickness of the sheet and the glossiness of the ink immediately told you this was not part of the book at all, but a handwritten note.

My dear,

I wished to convey to you how much our time together has meant to me. It was my first time having someone to spend Valentines day with. I understand now. It was always just another day to me, an inconvenience, but now it will forever be the day I met you.

Fondest regards.

MH.

Mycroft had been sitting at his desk, failing to concentrate on some official state business, when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. His heart seemed to skip a beat and a smile pulled at the corners of his lips. Just seeing your name appear on his screen did such incredible things to him. Tentatively, he opened your message.

[masqueradeleopera]

Friend

Yandere Sherlock x GN!reader x yandere Mycroft

Part1 <-You are here

Part2

A/N: This is my first Yandere story if I write anything wrong,please correct me.John will not be mention in this,in the story will be slowly progressed in cluding characters behavoir. And if you can please give me a feedback. Have a great day!

Warning: ooc characters,bad writing,bad grammar,yandere Sherlock,yandere Mycroft,mention of oc

"Are you going to see someone?"

Sherlock's question made (Y/N) who's at the front door of the flat halted almost immediately.

They looked at him with nervous smile before they answerd.

"No? I'm just going out to buy....uh...groceries!"

Of course Sherlock wouldn't buy that,Sherlock scoffed before he say.

"No,you are going out to see someone,judging by your clothing. You don't normally wear those unless you are going to meet someone and you want to impress them.So let me repeat the question for you.Are you going to see someone?"

His voice went a bit darker when he repeat the question.

'This is why I choose not to go out with my friends when you are around,Sherlock.'(Y/N) thought. Sherlock would interrogate until he got the answer he want,even goes out with them sometimes.To be honest it made them uncomfortable a little bit but this time they're not going to let him do that again.

"Yes,I'm going to meet my friend."

"Name."

"What?"

"Your friend's name,(Y/N)."

The way he said their name sent shiver throught their spine,his eyes watching them like a predator who's looking at their prey.

"J-Jack..." They answered shakenly.

"Jack what?" Sherlock asked,demanding the full name.

"Jack Mark..." They whisperd.

"Thank you."Sherlock said with cold smile,the same one that he uses whenever he met (Y/N)'s friends.

They don't understand either why he behave this way. They have known his family since they were young,so technically they're somesort of childhood friend,(Y/N) just hanging around with Sherlock and Mycroft until the boys started to accepted their persent in their life. It's still mystrey for (Y/N).

Whenever they invited their friends over,Sherlock would deduct them which made (Y/N)'s friends never come again.

"What are you waiting for? Come on"

Sherlock's question made (Y/N) snapped out of their thought and looked at him,he's already in his coat and ready to go.

"Wait-No! I'm just going to meet him.There's no need to come with me!"(Y/N) protested.

"Why not? I just want to meet your friend." Those words sliped out from his mouth unnaturally with a hint of disgust in his voice.

"I want to spend time with my friends sometimes too you know?"They tried to explain.

"Aren't I your friend too?"His voice suddenly become sadden as he looked at you in the eyes.

"It's not like that! I-I just want to spend time with other friends too!"They said as they looked at him nervously.

He hummed and think for a second before he reply.

"I see,well have fun with your friend!"He said without second thought and heading up stair,leave (Y/N) behind with confuse expression on their face.

"Okay.....?"They mumbled before they leave the flat.

Unknowingly to them,Sherlock eyes locked on their back as they walked away from the flat.

He pulled out his phone bfeore he begin to typed.

Can you look somebody up for me?-SH

Why should I?-Mycroft Holmes

He's (Y/N) friend.-SH

I will look it up .-Mycroft Holmes

End of the part 1. Thank you for reading!

[inevitably-johnlocked]

hi!! i recently got into johnlock and the universe has somehow directed me to your blog (which is an absolute godsend omfg). have you got any good possessive!john fics?

Hi Lovely!!!

AHHHH!! I’m so glad you enjoy my blog!!! <3 Thank you so much! <3

AHHH you know what??? I don’t get asked this all that much at all! I think mostly because it’s easier to find Possessive Sherlock fics and people then just... forget LOL

So guess what?? You’re the prompter for any fics I actually tagged or filed with Possessive John! <3 A pioneer you are! LOL I’m combining it with a few of the Obsessive fics as well, since I don’t have many new ones.

As usual, gang, feel free to add your own!! <3

POSSESSIVE / OBSESSIVE JOHN

See also: 

Specifically Jealous John b/c of Other People

Jealous John

Jealous John Pt. 2 and Jealous Sherlock Pt 2

Jealous John Pt 3 and Jealous Sherlock Pt 3

Jealous John and Sherlock Pt. 4

Jealous John and Sherlock Pt. 5

Hell or High water by bluefire301175 (E, 2,250 w., 1 Ch. || PWP, Frottage, Alley Sex, First Person POV John, Case-ish Fic, Mutual Pining, Bed Sharing) – John wants. Sherlock wants. Plain and simple.

Display by 221b_hound (E, 2,377 w., 1 Ch. || Post-HLV, Tattoos, Public Hand Jobs, Exhibitionism, Possessive Sex, Possessive Sherlock, Possessive John) – A new client has been flirting with Sherlock and, finding no joy there, with John. John seems annoyed to be second-best, Sherlock thinks, so Sherlock decides to give the departing woman (and maybe also John) a demonstration of who, exactly, John belongs to. But there's more than one level of sexual jealousy and more than one display of possession going on here, outlined in the window of 221b Baker Street. Part 2 of Lock and Key

Apodyopsis by QuinnAnderson (E, 3,347 w.,1 Ch. || PWP, Rough Sex, Table Sex, Anal, Sexual Tension) – Apodyopsis: (æpəʊdaɪˈɒpsɪs) noun. the act of mentally undressing someone. Part 2 of Undressed

Overture by Kate_Lear (M, 4,435 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss / Time, Friends to Lovers, Angry John, Introspection, Dev. Rel., Embarrassed / Insecure Sherlock, Morning After, Bed Sharing, Cuddles / Limpet Sherlock) – A short snippet on how John and Sherlock might have got together.

Sherlock and John Go Clubbing by wendymarlowe (E, 4,716 w., 3 Ch. || Clubbing, Dirty Talk, Dancing, Coming Untouched, Coming in Pants, Bi John, For a Case, Friends to Lovers, Flirting, Sherlock is Lost for Words, Sexy John, Mutual Pining, Possessive John, Floor Sex/Hand Job/Frottage) – John pinched the bridge of his nose - even for Sherlock, this was a new level of no bloody boundaries. “You want me to go with you to a gay club, wait around twiddling my thumbs while I let you get pawed by a criminal, then out-flirt him and talk you into coming home with me instead?” Part 32 of John and Sherlock's Kinky First Times

Caves in the Mountains Are Seldom Unoccupied by starrysummernights & TheMadKatter13 (E, 7,925 w., 1 Ch. || Were-Creatures ||  Werebear John, Pseudo Bestiality, Rimming, Heavy Dub Con, Rough Sex, Come Inflation / Eating, Size Kink, PWP, Bratty Sherlock, Rutting) – “This isn’t something to play at, Sherlock,” he snapped. “If it doesn’t work out- what you’re asking of me- we can’t shrug and say 'oh well, at least we tried'. If we do this… I could seriously hurt you. Do you understand? I could lose control. I could… I could kill you.”

My Life for His by QuinnAnderson (E, 8,816 w., 1 Ch. || Guardian/Protector, Greek Mythology || Growing Up, Sex, Religious Themes, Suicide, Minor Character Death) – It began when Sherlock was eight, and he attempted to climb all the way up to the highest branch in the old willow tree in his back garden. He'd thought he was still small enough that it could support him, but the second he'd grabbed hold of it to pull himself up, the branch snapped, and down he went, plummeting a solid twenty metres. The odd thing was, he never actually hit the ground.

Of Course I Forgive You by allonsys_girl (E, 10,735 w., 1 Ch. || Love Confessions, Canon Divergence, First Time, Frottage, Wall Sex, Infidelity) – What if things had gone differently on that train car?

The Invocation of Saint Margaret by Ewebie (E, 15,831 w., 1 Ch. || POV John,  Crossing Timelines, Light Angst, Fluff, Series 3 John / Series 1 Sherlock, The Matchbox, Mushy Romance, First Time, Bisexual John, Pining John, Bottomlock, Love Confessions, Sensuality, Emotional Love Making, Snippets of Time) – When Sherlock Holmes opens the matchbox from The Sign of Three and John finds himself years in the past, back to that first dinner at Angelo's with a much younger Sherlock Holmes. Is he dreaming?

Out of the Woods by SilentAuror (E, 20,471 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Romance, Slow Burn, Flirting, Drunk Sex, Practical Jokes, POV Sherlock, Bottomlock, Possessive John, Pining Sherlock, Frustrated Wanking, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, First Kiss/Time, Virgin Sherlock, Love Confessions, Soft Sherlock, Dancing, Bum Appreciation, Hanging out with the Yard) – Sherlock is fairly certain that John has taken to flirting with him of late, but can't be entirely certain of it. At least, not until a case takes them into a forest, along with Lestrade's team and something happens that will change everything about their lives...

The Kepler Problem by kinklock (E, 24,270 w., 1 Ch. || Sci-Fi AU, Alien Sherlock, Space Repairman John, Alien Biology, Horny John) – Working in uncharted space exploration was not as exciting as John had hoped, especially when it turned out to be mostly bot maintenance on uninhabited planets. However, the mystery of the repeated, unexplained malfunctions on planet BAK 2212 might turn out to be exactly the kind of adventure he'd been craving.

Inscrutable to the Last by DiscordantWords (M, 48,842 w., 6 Ch. || Post-TRF, Alternate S3, John’s Blog/S3 is a Story By John, Divorce, Marital Difficulties, John is a Mess, Emotional Reunion, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Grief / Mourning, Pining John, First Kiss, Adorably Clueless Sherlock, Nostalgia, Love Confessions, Eventual Happy Ending, Obsessive John) – He wasn't Sherlock, he couldn't work miracles. All he'd ever been able to do was write about them.

The Hollow Woman by ScopesMonkey (M, 51,335 w., 22 Ch. || Post-TRF, Major Character Death, Mystery, Romance, Friendship, Family, Angst, Crime, Reunion, First Kiss / Time, Nightmares, Doctor John, Jealous Sherlock, Jealous John, BAMF John, Angry John, Dub-Con, Rough Sex, Bottomlock, Possessive John, Villain Mary, Open Ending) – Forced to return to London sooner than expected, Sherlock falls into a case too close to home. Part 1 of the Hollowverse series

Points by lifeonmars (E, 53,791 w., 42 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || HLV Rewrite / Canon Divergence, Married Life, Pregnancy / Baby Watson, Drinking to Cope, Boxing / Fisticuffs, Clueless John, Angst, Minor Medical Drama, Tattoos, Christmas, First Kiss/Time, Eventual Happy Ending, Love Confessions, Doctor John, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Burn, Case Fic, Drugging, Blow/Hand Job, Emotional Love Making, Parenthood, Passage of Time, Obsessive John) – What if His Last Vow never happened? This fic picks up a few months after John and Mary's wedding, in an alternate universe where Magnussen doesn't exist, but Mary is still pregnant. Life continues -- just in a different direction. And slowly, Sherlock and John find their way to each other.

The Bells of King's College by SilentAuror (E, 64,019 w., 5 Ch. || Post-S4, Missed Opportunities, Angst with Happy Ending, Fake Relationship, Case Fic, John POV, Jealous John, John in Denial, Travelling / Holidays, Virgin Sherlock, Wedding Proposals) – It's only been two weeks since Eurus Holmes disrupted their lives when Mycroft sends John and Sherlock to Cambridge to pose as an engaged couple at a wedding show in the hopes of solving six unsolved deaths...

Gimme Shelter by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (E, 159,368 w., 21 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || 70′s Surfer AU || Period Typical Homophobia, Hawaii, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Professional Surfers, Gay John / Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, John was a Sailor, Misunderstandings) – All John Watson wants is the feeling of a freshly waxed surfboard under his feet and the hot California sun baking down onto his back. To finally go pro in the newly formed world of professional surfing and leave the dark memories of his past behind him as he rips across the face of a towering blue barrel. To lounge beside the beach bonfire every evening with an ice cold beer tucked into the cool sand beside him and listen to Pink Floyd and the Doors while the saltwater dries in his sun bleached hair. That's all he wants, that is, until the hot young phenom taking Oahu and the Hawaiian shores by storm steps up next to him in the sand in the second round of the 1976 International Surf Competition. (PUBLISHED AS ‘The Sea Ain’t Mine Alone’)

Proving A Point by elldotsee & J_Baillier (E, 186,270 w., 28 Ch. || Me Before You Fusion || Medical Realism, Insecure John, Depression, Romance, Angst, POV John, Sherlock Whump, Serious Illness, Doctor John, Injury Recovery, Assisted Suicide, Sherlock’s Violin, Awkward Sexual Situations, Alcoholism, Drugs, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn, Body Image, Friends to Lovers, Hurt / Comfort, Pain, Big Brother Mycroft, Intimacy, Anxiety, PTSD, Family Issues, Psychological Trauma, John Whump, Case Fics, Loneliness, Pain) – Invalided home from Afghanistan, running out of funds and convinced that his surgical career is over, John Watson accepts a mysterious job offer to provide care and companionship for a disabled person. Little does he know how much hangs in the balance of his performance as he settles into his new life at Musgrave Court.

Free Falling by twistedthicket1 (M, 203,574 w., 38 Ch. || Guardian Angels AU || Guardian Angel John, Fluff and Angst, Humour, Kidlock / Teenlock, Light Mystrade, Passage of Time, Possessive John, Drug Use / Overdose, Victor Trevor, Graphic Bullying, Big Brother Mycroft, Hard Drug Use, Depression, Possessive Sherlock, Possessive John, Panic Attacks, Nightmares/PTSD, Pining, Healing Abilities, Kidnapping, Violence, Torture, Blow Jobs, Virgin John, Emotional Development / Attachment, Mortality, Happy Ending) – All Guardian angels are born with a Chosen human. When this child is born, the angel comes into being to protect and care for them during their life on Earth. For John Watson, all he cares about in the world revolves around his Chosen, Sherlock Holmes. Watching him grow up though, the angel soon learns that God must have had a sense of humour the day he decided to make Sherlock, as trouble seems to follow him like a magnet wherever he goes. John can't decide what's worse, the idea of losing his Chosen one, or the fact that he may be breaking the most taboo law of heaven as he disguises himself as a human to better protect and befriend the beloved detective he's always watched from afar. He was meant to care for him. But what happens when caring evolves into something more? What happens when an emotion an angel is supposed to be incapable of possessing comes to life suddenly and viciously inside John's chest?

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

When We Were Young Part Four

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader Rating: T Notes: Not beta-read I hope everyone's had a good week and is doing well :) Thank you for all of the likes/reblogs/replies!! Warnings: Uuuuuh none Summary: “I’ve never come across a boring case, Lord Dawson. Some have perhaps been easier to solve than others, but the truth is never boring.” 

“You seem a little agitated, if you don’t mind my saying so.” You did mind her saying so, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be irritated with Mrs. Lloyd. She was Uncle Cornelius’ housekeeper, had known you since you were very young, and was familiar with your moods. “I’m not particularly looking forward to this evening,” You excused. Mrs. Lloyd glanced at you in the mirror as she adjusted the off-the-shoulder sleeves of your royal blue evening gown. “Could it have anything to do with the fact that Lord Dawson will be in attendance?” She asked. “Among other things,” You replied stiffly. She hummed, lifting her hands to smooth over your hair. “Shall I tuck a flower into the braid? I got a lovely bunch of gardenias at the market this morning,” Mrs. Lloyd offered. She didn’t wait for your answer before she headed for the door. “Why gardenias?” You asked, turning to look at her. “They symbolize purity and gentleness,” She told you. You grimaced. “Are there any flowers that symbolize resentment?” You asked. Mrs. Lloyd frowned. “Petunias. But I didn’t buy any of those.”

-- “It’s the last thing this country needs, reform,” Mycroft had been prattling on for nearly twenty minutes now. Most of the men’s voices uttered murmurs of agreement, though you noted Sherlock’s was absent. You glanced in his direction to find him eyeing the man that had been seated across from you. Lord Fredrick Adelbert Dawson did cut a fine figure, you couldn’t deny it. With a sharp, pointed jaw, dusty blonde hair, hawk-sharp steel blue eyes, and an aquiline nose, he tended to draw the eye of many a young lady. He had even drawn yours when you’d first met him. And then you’d had a conversation with him and any interest you’d had faded quickly. You lowered your eyes to your plate as you saw Sherlock’s gaze flit to you.

“Come now, gentlemen, I do believe we’re boring our companions,” Cornelius chuckled, casting looks around the table, “Perhaps Mr. Holmes could tell us about the case he’s currently working on?” You felt yourself grow tense as everyone’s attention shifted to Sherlock. If he was rattled by this sudden spotlight, he didn’t show it. His face retained its usual mild expression; the only noticeable change was a now quirked brow in Cornelius’ direction. “What is it you’d like to know?” He asked. “Whatever it is you can tell us,” Cornelius pressed. “I’m not sure there’s much Sherlock can say about this one at present,” Mycroft’s voice was tight as he reached for his glass of wine. You watched him take a rather long sip before he lowered the glass to the table. The hand that had been holding it rested on the cloth, balled into a fist. “Is it because it’s confidential, or is it simply dreadfully boring?” Lord Dawson asked. You cast Sherlock a glance, watched him tip his head and narrow his eyes at the question. Oh dear. “I’ve never come across a boring case, Lord Dawson. Some have perhaps been easier to solve than others, but the truth is never boring.” “The truth?” Dawson repeated, brows raised in amusement, “What excitement can one find in the truth?” “About as much excitement as you find at the Theatre Royal in Covent Garden. Is it still under the management of Madame Vestris?” “Sherlock,” Mycroft hurried to hiss from the other end of the table. But the damage had been done. You watched as the blood drained from Dawson’s face. The comment had landed with the other gentlemen at the table, and, unfortunately, with you. Uncle Cornelius, in one of his more intoxicated states, had once made mention of ‘the pretty ladies he’d been in the company of’ at the Theatre Royal. You weren’t naïve; you knew that they were ladies of the night. You reached for your glass of wine, avoiding the eyes of both Sherlock and Lord Dawson as they looked to you for a reaction.   “I quite loved H.M.S. Pinafore!” Cornelius piped up in the hopes of breaking the tension. -- After dinner, the ladies had adjourned to the sitting room for a glass of wine and some conversation; the men had remained in the dining room for brandy and cigars. You had only been able to stand the chatter for a few minutes before you excused yourself. You stepped out into the garden, sighing into the night air and allowing your shoulders to sag just a little. Dinner had been no less than a disaster. Even after Cornelius had moved the conversation on, there had been glares and harsh words veiled as polite conversation between Sherlock and Dawson. You had hated it; you knew that this would be awful, but you couldn’t have fathomed it would be nearly this bad. “Are you cold?” You jumped at the sound of his voice. Sherlock held his hands up in apology as you brought your hand up to your chest, feeling your heart pound. “No,” You lied, the word harsh in your irritation. If he knew you were lying, he didn’t call you on it. Sherlock turned, beginning to wander around the garden in silence. You rubbed your hands over your arms, trying to warm them as he was looking elsewhere. As you saw him turn back toward you, you quickly lowered your hands, clasping them in front of you. “What are you doing out here?” You asked. “I wanted some air,” Sherlock excused. “There’s plenty of air inside.” “And you?” Sherlock asked, “What drew you out?” “... It was too warm in the sitting room,” You fibbed. Sherlock hummed, clearly unconvinced before he began to wander the garden again. “Did they teach you to lie at finishing school?” He had meant it to be a joke, but you nodded and said, “In a way.” His brow furrowed. “Explain,” He requested. You looked down at your hands, considering. “Well... You’re taught to comport yourself according to the rules of society. How to sit, how to eat, how to smile, how to speak, how to laugh. And you’re taught to act that way regardless of however you may truly be, or however you may feel. You learn to become someone else, for the sake of society...Though everyone tells you that it’s for your own sake.” When you looked at Sherlock, you found him watching you closely. “...Promise me you’ll find Enola before Mycroft does,” You pleaded softly. His mouth turned down in irritation. “I’m doing everything I can, dove,” Sherlock swore. “If you were doing everything, you wouldn’t be taking breaks to ruin dinner parties,” You retorted. Sherlock grunted, turning away from you. “Your Lord Dawson is quite the character,” He commented. The butterflies in your stomach began to swirl about in an uneasy flurry. “How so?” You asked. “Well, he’s quite blunt, firm in his opinions. He seems to be under the impression that you’re meek, soft...Though maybe that was the fault of the gardenia,” he glanced back at you. You let out an irritated huff, reaching up and yanking the flower that Mrs. Lloyd had put in your hair out, tossing it on the stone bench near you. You glowered at the sight of Sherlock’s amused smile. “I’m sure Mycroft will be quite cross with you for what you said to Fredrick,” You commented. “Fredrick?” Sherlock repeated, stopping in his place, a thread of incredulity in his tone. You arched a challenging brow, silently daring him to comment on the name further. Rather than press, Sherlock said, “I’m sure Mycroft is already taking the pains to smooth things over. You’re familiar with Dawson, do you think he’s amenable?” “Your brother has a reputation for being persistent to the point of ruthlessness. I’m sure his success is imminent.” “I wasn’t asking you about my brother,” Sherlock pointed out. He tucked his hands behind his back, regarding you. “...Could you be happy with him?” The question took you aback, but your answer was prepared - it was the same thing you’d been telling yourself for months: “My family would stop worrying about my future. It would be a weight off of their mind, and therefore mine.” “That isn’t an answer.” “Yes it is,” You argued. Sherlock considered this. “I disagree,” He finally said, “Let me ask again.” He began to cross the garden toward you in slow, steady steps as he spoke, “Would you be happy, being Lady Dawson? Attending opening day at Ascot? Wearing the latest fashions? Having your name in the papers whenever your husband takes up another of his several affairs?” Your stomach churned uneasily, heart pounding as Sherlock stared you down. “Stop it,” You mumbled. “Bearing two, three little lords or ladies? Shipping them off to school--” “Stop it!” You snapped more loudly. Sherlock went still at that, close enough for you to see the flicker of shock in his eyes. You shook your head a little bit, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment to quell the tears that had begun to prickle, taking a deep breath to steady yourself before you looked at him again. “You’re just as bad as Mycroft sometimes, you know? Prodding me to see how quickly you can get a rise out of me like I’m some experiment and not a person. It’s cruel.” Then you saw it again - the flash of hurt that had crossed Sherlock’s face back at Ferndell. But it didn’t disappear this time. Instead it settled, twisting his handsome features as his eyes lowered to the ground. “You did it when we were young, too. Maybe it was fair then, maybe I was just this irritating noise-making thing that you wanted away from you. But we’re not children anymore,” You reprimanded him, “And what I may have to do to maintain my family’s social standing is none of your concern, Mr. Holmes.” Sherlock looked at you then, eyes skating over your face before he met your gaze. “Your eyes are red,” He said. Irritation shot through you. “I’m not a case, Sherlock,” You sneered before you turned away, intending to leave. Sherlock’s hand caught hold of yours, stilling you. “Let go,” You hissed. “Dove.” His tone was beseeching, gentle. You didn’t trust it. “Let go of me,” You demanded. He did, and you strode away, leaving him alone in the night. -- “Are you alright? ... My dear, you’re shaking,” Mrs. Lloyd gripped you by the shoulders, steering you back into the study. “I-- It was colder than I anticipated,” You excused. You allowed yourself to be steered into a chair by the fire, folded into a blanket, the others fussing about you catching your death. No one noticed the gardenia missing from your hair. No one noticed the white petals peeking out from the pocket of Sherlock’s jacket as he bid Cornelius a good night. -- “Breakfast is on the table. And there’s been a delivery for you - it’s in your study,” Your mother informed you. You thanked her quietly before turning back to your vanity to finish pinning up your hair. You were glad to be home. Your last two days in London had been entirely uneventful. You’d met with your father’s other investor (with minimal condescension; the gentleman had actually been somewhat pleasant) and dropped in on your aunt one more time before traveling home. You hadn’t heard from Dawson, which was a relief. You’d heard nothing from Sherlock. That should’ve been a relief, but it was, in fact, agonizing. You told yourself it was because it meant that you had no news of Enola, but you knew that it was more than that. You couldn’t help but wonder what the two of you may’ve said or done if you’d turned back to him when he’d wanted you to. You hadn’t sought him out despite this curiosity, either in person or by post; he had a case to work on. Besides, you didn’t know what you’d say to him even if you did see him. You two seemed to turn to bickering when left to your own devices. Your curiosity about the delivery won out over your hunger, and you went into your study. There was a beautiful white satin glass vase sitting on your desk filled with purple hyacinths. You knew what those flowers meant well enough - you’d sent them to your Aunt Mary the last time you’d failed to send her a formal thank you note for a dinner party you’d attended at her home. Purple hyacinths were for apologies. You stepped closer to them warily, gently fingering the petals. Your eyes fell to the envelope beside the vase, and your stomach gave a little flip. Sherlock’s handwriting hadn’t changed after all this time; his penmanship had always had a crisp, almost tight quality to it. You picked the envelope up, pulling the note out. Please forgive me, dove.                                    -S.H. At the very bottom of the note was an address for Miss Harrison’s Finishing School. Tag list: @run-through-wa11s ; @thefallenbibliophilequote ; @bitchy-witchy-post-mortem ; @maan24​ ; @awkward-walking-potato​ ; @madalore​ ; @alexa-lightwood-blog​ ; @chelseaxaz ; @marwritesgood​ ; @runawayolives​ ; @parkerismybaby​

[holmesianpose]

Chapters: 54/? Fandom: Sherlock (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Philip Anderson, Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes, Molly Hooper, Sally Donovan Additional Tags: Romance, Alternate Universe - Historical, Historical, Boats and Ships, Sailor!John, Aristocrat!Sherlock, AU, Johnlock Trope Challenge, Sexual Content, Explicit Sexual Content, sherlock POV, Pining Sherlock, Young!naive!Sherlock, Muscular!Sea-hardened!John, POV Sherlock Holmes, SailorLock, sailinglock, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Virgin Sherlock, Anderson has no redeeming qualities whatsoever, Sherlock is a sad gay baby, boxing lessons, Sherlock's Violin, sailor!lock, Sailing, First Kiss, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Top John Watson, Sherlock is a trembling gay flower petal, John is a golden god of sex, First Time, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Resolved Sexual Tension, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Frottage, Masturbation, Age of Sail, Regency, Threats of Violence, Threats of sexual violence, Angst with a Happy Ending, THIS STORY WILL HAVE THE HAPPIEST ENDING YOU CAN POSSIBLY STOMACH, but there will be angst and conflict along the way, and also lots and lots of sex, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Don't copy to another site Summary:

When the youngest son of the aristocratic Holmes family is shipped off to sea in an attempt to cure him of his poor temper and bad manners, he fully expects to spend a long tedious voyage as miserable as ever. What he does not count on is having his heart stolen by the strapping young crewman, John Watson.

*leaps up onto the nearest object*

*pulls out megaphone*

NEW CHAPTER IS UP! I REPEAT, THE NEW CHAPTER OF OFD IS *UP*!

[writingfortoomanyfandoms]

Okay, I can’t think of anything that great, but maybe something with Henry!Sherlock where the reader is not exactly very ladylike(but enough to be accepted in society but in her own home is very comfortable) where she starts ranting about Mycroft and how he shouldn’t speak about Enola like that and like basically she just hates him and maybe you could write Sherlock’s reaction. I’m so sorry this is terrible!

I hope this is alright! It’s not a terrible request at all my darling

------------------------------------------------

Y/N was fuming.

She had been ever since the argument that morning in the drawing room. Well, in reality, she had been angry since they had first stepped foot onto the train station platform and met Enola.

But she had been on the edge of an angry rant ever since she had been forced to listen to Mycroft speak to his sister after the Miss Harrison incident.

Aware of his wife’s mood, Sherlock had excused them both as soon as he could following dinner, the two of them retiring to their bedroom the moment that they could in order to get away from the tense atmosphere created by the other two Holmes siblings.

Now they were in the bedroom. He sat on the edge of their bed, his eyes following her, keenly observing her as she endlessly paced back and forth across the carpet.

Y/N?” He prompted at last, raising one eyebrow in mild amusement as he waited for her to release a torrent of annoyance on him.

“Just who the actual fuck does he think he is?” Y/N began, turning sharply to face the other way, storming towards the door and repeating the action once more so that she was in her original place before she continued to speak. “What on living fucking Earth does Mycroft fucking Holmes know about what it is to be a woman?”

Y/N suddenly stopped in her tracks and shot a look at her husband.

“What is it?”

“Why didn’t you help her?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Yes, you should be,” Y/N agreed. “Your sister needed you, Sherlock. Your brother belittled her, insulted her, scared her and you sat there and did fuck all - even when she asked you for your support!”

Sherlock stared at her long and hard, his gaze almost calculating. Finally he sighed and gestured for her to join him on the bed. Y/N eyed him up for a moment before complying.

“I’m sorry, love, you’re right,” he sighed again. “But truly Enola is Mycroft’s ward. If I were to get... involved too much in raising her... Mycroft would not be best pleased.”

“I don’t give a shit about pleasing Mycroft!” 

“I know you don’t,” Sherlock agreed soothingly, resting his hand on her back and rubbing it up and down comfortingly. “But you do give a shit about Enola,” he hesitated, looking almost embarrassed as he added: “as do I. And if I were to try to intervene with Mycroft’s plans for her, he would take it badly and he would take it out on her,” Sherlock shook his head gravely. “It would make things worse for her.”

“You could make her your ward,” Y/N countered desperately, but the look in her eyes as she spoke, staring at her husband in a way that she had never truly looked at him before, gave away that she was aware already of what his answer would be. Sherlock’s heart swelled with affection for his wife and he leaned over to press a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“You and I both know that that’s no life for a young girl.”

“She idolises you, Sherlock,” Y/N whispered, finally giving in and leaning into her husband, who wrapped a secure arm around her, hugging her tight to him.

“I know. But the most I can do for the moment is try to live up to what she thinks of me, even just a little bit.”

Henry Cavill Requests