#mycroft replies

[atamh]

Why not kidnap Lestrade to a deserted parking lot so he’ll talk to you? It worked with Dr Watson. Well, it might not have worked if he had his gun with him at that time.

Kidnap? I’d never use such… unorthodox methods.

[artofdeductionbysholmes]

Who's mummy's favorite? And who's father's favorite?

-A

Me. Also me.

[consultjohnwatson]

Is my brother still alive?

He tells me to tell you that he died weeks ago and that you are inheriting his debts.

… And if you’d be so kind to settle them asap.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hello. This might seem a bit random, but did Moftiss, especially Gatiss, ever say anything concrete about Mycroft's sexuality? I know he made jokes about young men in his house and about sexual tension of Mycroft & Mrs Hudson and there was the whole thing with Lady Smallwood. But I have seen a person say that Gatiss said something about what he thinks/believes his sexuality is (in reference to Mycroft being gay). Do you know anything about that, or know someone who does? I could really use help.

Hey Nonny! *HUGS*

As far as I know, no, nothing has been ever said, other than in TEH there's the "goldfish" conversation between the brothers that, to me, can be implied either he has or hasn't had a "goldfish". Personally, I think he's asexual and aromantic in BBC Sherlock, but AGAIN, that's MY reading of him, nothing concrete and not agreed upon by everyone.

I haven't seen anything official, but I also haven't read and watched every interview ever. Maybe years and years ago? Not sure!!

Anyone have any info they can provide?? Sorry I'm not much help, Nonny. Most of my character studying was with John, Mary and Sherlock 🙃

[consult-sherlockholmes]

Do you want me to ask @mycroft-h-holmes about your atrocities? I bet he has a file about that.

He probably has a big ledger about me. Maybe even a whole file cabinet just about that. Probably a chronological list of every 'atrocity' I have ever commited in his eyes.

First on the list is probably being born and taking our parents' full attention away from him. And probably about 500 entries about me commenting on his diet. Or that time I ate the last piece of cake on Christmas. Or that one time I shot...well that's not important.

Anyway, I do not think you would find anything interesting or worthwhile in that file.

[imprvdente]

@governmentofficial sent: "Do you plan to reproduce? Are you going to procreate at some point?" best friends verse :) from: Questioning Sentences, Vol. 5

While Fish was used to her best friend's sometimes unfortunate choice of words, the question still gave her whiplash. She lowered her cup of coffee slowly, placing it down on the kitchen counter.

"Are you asking me if Abel and I are planning on having a baby?" she asked with her eyebrows raised, politely demonstrating a more proper phrasing.

She didn't think Mycroft would enjoy it if she had a baby. He didn't like sharing her, and accepting her relationship with Abel had been difficult enough. But she also didn't like lying to her friend. And now that he even knew her deepest, darkest secret, it felt silly tip toeing around the subject of 'procreation'.

"Maybe. He already has two children, so I don't know if he would want another kid. But I would, to be honest."

[skyriderwednesday]

Hmmm... so if ASiS takes place in 1881, and I've said that Enola was nine the previous year...

Then evidently this version of Holmes and Watson meet when Sherlock is a few days shy of 24.

[hvbris]

@governmentofficial​ . 𝐒𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐏𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑

Caesar was of course honored to have been appointed Host for the Hunger Games. Yes, honored was the word. What an opportunity! So much responsibility and power put on the shoulders of a young man, so many new dangerous waters to navigate. So much spotlight, for someone barely out of the University. Honored was the word, but not the only word. And Caesar didn’t want to be ungrateful, but he was still... overwhelmed.

Not that it showed. He had learned to craft for himself a perfect mask of cheerfulness years ago. He knew how to deal with popularity, how to smile on command. Caesar was a natural, really. A chameleon, always understanding with ease if the situation called for solemnity or enthusiasm. And perhaps that was why everyone had been so eager to replace Lucky Flickerman with his much more competent son. Lucky himself had agreed with joy, for it seemed his father only cared about his parrot and his magic tricks (and returning to being a weatherman, a less complicated position). Perhaps Caesar sometimes blamed him, late at night. 

This new life was a wave of new and impressive things. New people, new responsibilities. He had privately met the President himself. The President! And so, it was a relief, really, to finally see a familiar face. A friendly face. 

It was (partly) why he had invited Mycroft to this particular event. To have someone to rely on. Someone he knew, finally. And, well, Caesar also missed his friend. It seemed that with their new responsibilities, the young men didn’t have much time to see each others anymore. 

And unfortunately, it turned out that this gala was no exception. People were swarming around Caesar, demanding his attention. He was the hot new thing, after all. But all he wanted was to spend the evening with Mycroft! And yet, every time he tried to come talk to him so they could catch up, someone “important” grabbed him (sometimes literally) to have a little chat. 

When, FINALLY, he managed to escape his social duties to go see his friend, Mycroft seemed... drunk? That was unlike him. 

“Myc?” said Caesar with his eternal smile (though it was perhaps less enthusiastic than usual), “I think you’ve had enough Champagne for the night! Don’t you?” There was an exclamation of laughter. “Here, how about we go take a stroll outside? Some fresh air would do you good.” And perhaps they could have some privacy, away from the hungry Capitol vultures! 

[scarlet-streak-fanfics]

HI. It's me... aha...

You know what I'm here for so I'm gonna make it short, More Sherlock and Mycroft angst but mostly on the Sherlock part, probably arguing again but this time more serious that even Ms. Hudson and John gets worried, Sherliam included (of course I mean)

I don't know maybe Sherlock gets to angry and stressed from Mycroft's pressure that he decides to go missing for a week and get some time for himself y'know.(He's gonna solve cases probably he's to energetic AND BORED to not solve cases. And probably play some violin too) He goes missing, everyone's going nuts, William getting too worried and angry that he threathens Mycroft with a knife (now we know where Louis got his tendency from Ig) Then bom Sherlock comes back. I leave the rest and the details to you but, I would like it if it's an happy ending! THANK YOU!

Hello there my new friend! We discussed the changes I wanted to make to this request, so here's part one as promised! I hope you enjoy it. This will be a three-parter darker alternative version of the fic I posted yesterday. Don't worry, there still will be a happy ending of some kind. The first 676 words are the same as yesterday's. Sorry 'bout that. I wanted to make sure this fic could stand on its own.

Trigger Warning for Drug Use, specifically Morphine, Hypodermic Needles, and mentions of Morphine

Sherlock allows his head to rest against the back of his chair, his eyes fixing on the smoke gathering at the ceiling from the cigarette perched haphazardly between his lips. He knows he should open the window—John has been trying to get him to quit ever since he moved in, and Ms. Hudson has threatened to kick him out of the flat over smoking indoors on more than one occasion. Apparently, the smell gives her a headache, and the smoke damages the ceilings and furniture; he made the mistake once of asking if the damage really mattered if he and John were the only ones who would ever live there. The rise in rent the following month was enough to keep Sherlock from pushing the landlady’s buttons for a good while. Still, he can’t bring himself to care about anything besides tuning out his older brother’s scoldings. Mycroft had stopped by for his weekly attempt at making Sherlock find more steady work and actually make something of himself besides a drug-addict “consulting detective”. He can hear Mycroft pacing the apartment as he continues his lecture, “It’s all well and good right now—your Lord of Crime is keeping you in enough work to pay rent. However, once he’s caught or slinks off into the shadows as criminals are oft to do, you’ll be out of a job. If Mother were still alive—”

“She’d be bloody disappointed at the failure she gave birth to.” Sherlock finishes bitterly, removing the cigarette from his lips and holding it between two fingers as he releases the smoke from his lungs. The older Holmes brother stops, all his attention focusing on Sherlock. “That’s not what I was going to say and you know that.”

“It’s what you meant, innit?” Sherlock stands up, stepping behind his chair to open the window and turning his back to his brother. He leans on the windowsill, tapping the ash from his cigarette to the streets below. “Ma always wanted us to be something more. That’s what all the fancy schoolin’ was for, right, Myc? Why you talk all posh and rub elbows with the nobility.”

“Yes, but I don’t expect that from you because I know that we are not the same person. However, that doesn’t mean you lack the potential for your own greatness. You have a brilliant mind, Sherly, and you’re squandering it.”

“Unlike you, pushin’ papers all day as the Queen’s lapdog.” Sherlock’s sarcasm is not lost on Mycroft—he finds himself being spun to face his older brother, cigarette falling from his fingers to the street below. “You know just as well as I do that one of us had to continue repaying the debt of our family—I took that burden so you could find a path of your own and this is what you’ve done with it!”

“I don’t recall askin’ you to make that sacrifice for me.” Sherlock looks his brother in the eyes, face and voice the picture of defiance. Mycroft studies him for a moment before letting the hand he’d used to turn Sherlock drop back to his side, a huff of defeat leaving him. “Just think about it, Sherly. I know you’re better than this.”

Sherlock doesn’t try to stop his brother as Mycroft departs from the apartment. He doesn’t bother to close the door after him, leaving it slightly ajar as he returns to the window and fishes a fresh cigarette and his lighter out of his pocket. Usually, he’d already be on his way to the nearest bar, but it’s barely sunset. John made him promise after one too many mornings where Sherlock stumbled in hungover, bloody, and bruised from whatever nonsense he’d gotten into the night before that he’d tell John when he was going out, what bar he was going to, and when he intended to be back so the doctor could retrieve him if necessary. He understood this rule in principle, but it was particularly frustrating on evenings when John was out with his fiancée Mary and wouldn’t be back until much later.

However, Sherlock reasons to himself as his right hand flexes unconsciously, that rule does only apply to bars. Sure, John had discouraged the habit, but he’d never outright told him no. If he’s quick about it, his roommate might not even know he’s gone. It takes him a moment to find the sterilized kit that he keeps for such occasion–it’s tucked away in a cabinet after months of no use. 

Sherlock throws on his coat, checking the pocket to make sure he didn’t leave his wallet somewhere else. After all, he can’t really ask Ms. Hudson to help him find his wallet so he can pay for one of the vices that upsets her the most. Once satisfied that he’ll have the money for his outing, the detective creeps down the stairs, the paranoia at altering his beloved landlady to his departure causing him to act like a teenager sneaking out past curfew.

It’s been a while since he indulged in opioids, or really anything beyond a few drinks or cigarettes. If he had to guess, it was the arrival of a certain mathematician into his life that allowed him to break the habit. William had challenged him, giving him an unpredictable variable in the monotony that was his life, and he’d never wanted to miss a chance to enjoy that variable just because he was high. He immediately pushes that train of thought aside as something in his heart starts to ache. William was still teaching Durham and most likely wouldn’t return to the city until the weekend–no need to hold himself back for Liam’s sake.

As he gets closer and closer to his destination, an opium den hidden away in the slums that he’s certain Mycroft is unaware of, Sherlock fights to repress his doubts about this decision. He can almost see John’s disappointed face or William’s contempt, but the idea of annoying his older brother by leaning into the part of a drug addict keeps him going. Still, he can’t stop the roiling shame in his stomach as he purchases the morphine, waving away the offer of needles as he makes his way to the back of the dilapidated den. 

John would kill him if he used anything besides sanitized hypodermic needles, especially since the ones offered by the dealer had most likely been used already. The flood of guilt that comes with that thought is almost enough to make him disregard that rule. He tucks himself away into a dark corner, removing his coat and laying it over his shoulders to act as a visual block. He wants to irritate Mycroft, not cause a scandal when the younger brother of the director of London’s Military Department is revealed to be an opioid addict. Once again, he pushes those thoughts aside, ignoring the dull pain in his chest and prickling, hot feeling in his eyes.

Sherlock is strangely numb as he measures out a safe dose of the liquid into his needle and rolls up the sleeve of his white shirt. Something feels final about this moment. Even though he’s done this action dozens of times before, he’s certain that there’s no coming back from this decision. Unfortunately, that’s not enough to stop him from pushing the needle into his arm with practiced precision, gritting his teeth at the familiar pain. 

As he pulls his jacket fully over his head, the sickeningly sweet smell of opium smoke filling his lungs, Sherlock tries to force himself to relax. He knows this’ll be much less pleasant if he fights the drugs now coursing through his system–he just has to keep his anxieties at bay for a few more minutes.

He can’t quite tell when the morphine starts to kick in. However, the familiar warmth of euphoria soon floods his senses, and his muscles start to relax as he leans back against the wall. As his eyelids flutter shut to hide dialating pupils and his breathing slows, Sherlock decides that maybe he can stay here a little longer than he intended to.

[consulting-criminal]

Wassup bbg, how's your day going?

Planning some schemes.

[atamh]

Why do you have a folder of random pictures of @di-greglestrade labeled "paperwork" ?

I have no idea what you are referring to.

[artofdeductionbysholmes]

A Study in Pink

At least one positive outcome emerged from the entire– boop ordeal.

@atamh

[consultjohnwatson]

what do you think Sherlock and Mycroft's nicknames for each other? They act like...typical siblings...

I once heard the words “brat” and “skippy ball” uttered when they were playing Operation…

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hi Steph. So I have some meta thoughts. 1) In TGG both Lucy's brother and the tv lady call their sibling "love". I wonder if this has any mirror significance, to link the character or cases together? 2) In T6T, Sherlock texts "the fingerprints on your brother's neck are your own". I know people have talked about this in relation to M-Theory, but it reminds me of Sherlock talking about strangling Mycroft in TSO3 and miming it. It could be foreshadowing for TFP, but why invoke strangulation again?

Hi Lovely!!

Ooof, I'm a bit rusty on my Sherlock episodes (it's been a long timne since I've watched the whole series), but I'll try my best:

Honestly, I don't think so. Love is a common pet name used in the UK, if I understand correctly, just like North Americans use "pal", "dude", "buddy", "dear", and "honey" or "hun" for literally any relationship (my sis is "dude" lol). I think "love" is used for closer relationships, but again, I am Canadian and I don't want to speak for UK English even if we use most of their English, LOL.

Honestly, no idea. S4 makes no sense to me no matter how I look at it, but there was a time that many of us theorized that Mycroft was actually dying ([this post], [this post] & [this post]) and given many of us believe that S4 IS either John's Unreliable Narrator/Alibi or John's TAB, it's plausible that it could be another edit slipped into John's story. Or it's just weird writing. Either way, S3 makes no sense LOL.

Sorry I'm not much help other than that!

Anyone who wants to add their own suggestion, please do! Especially in correcting my most-definitely-wrong chatter about the British usage of "love".

[consult-sherlockholmes]

Brother dear, the stage is set.

Perfect. Now go fetch the hedgehog. Be careful, he's prickly.

[imprvdente]

@governmentofficial sent: ❛I’ve never been very good at friends.❜ from: CATCHING FIRE (2013) SENTENCE STARTERS

"That's alright," replied Fish, looking up from the book on North American birds she had brought to their table, "I think you're a good friend to me."

She had suggested they spend the day at Baltimore's Library, because she knew Mycroft loved books, and it was also one of her favorite places in town. Fish did like books too, though it required her a special kind of focus and discipline to read. So, she found the Library to be the perfect place for that.

"And you're good at a lot of other things," she added, turning the page to reveal a beautiful illustration of a Red-winged Blackbird on a branch.