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french-vanilla-in-the-clouds · 1 year

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𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: When Y/N is invited to a polo tournament on Deville manor, she never expects for the Holmes boys to fall for her during the weekend getaway. Though Sherlock is keen to make sparks fly, his love for Y/N seems more and more like a competition with his older brother.

Y/N soon learns that she has more on the line than simply getting her heart broken. She might also be at the centre of a dark conspiracy. 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐲, 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭

────────⊳⋆⊲────────

"Do you see John, anywhere?" Mary peered through her binoculars, searching for her husband on the open field. “I promised him we’d pop by before the match.”

Y/N huffed in amusement. Earlier that week, Mycroft had invited John, Greg, Sherlock, and by extension, Mary and Y/N to join him for a weekend's polo tournament. The four men would play against a team of Mycroft's colleagues over the course of three days. It was a prestigious event and several higher up's in the British government would be in attendance.

The renowned Deville manor served as lodging and camp, with the lord of the house acting as master of ceremonies. Lord Deville's property extended throughout the English countryside, its picturesque landscape making the ideal spot for a tournament.

Y/N had been quick to accept Mycroft's invitation, only waiting for Sherlock's agreement before blurting out a sharp "yes," herself. She'd been doing that a lot lately - observing Sherlock's interactions from a distance. She ached for his approval but couldn't discern why.

Y/N ambled past a team of rival polo players with Mary still linked to her arm. Socialites mingled in groups around her. They chatted softly, their fingers wrapped around champagne glasses. Y/N instinctively smoothed down the front of her blouse. She scanned the manor's busy plot and noticed a row of security personall in the backstands working to blend into the background. It didn't come as a surprise that Mycroft had invited them to such a shrouded event. The man dealt in secrets, even during his leisure time.

"Have you spoken to Mycroft lately?" Y/N asked absently.

Mary dropped her binoculars. "He's not exactly my confidant. Why do you ask?"

Secretly, Y/N was intrigued by Mycroft's low profile, but she shrugged it off under Mary's stare. "I was just wondering. Isn't it strange that he invited us all for a weekend getaway? Social niceties aren't really his speed."

Mary pursed her lips. "You know, I was wondering that myself. I’d say he has something hidden up his sleeve."

“There’s certainly more to him than meets the eye,” Y/N murmured. She ignored Mary’s raised brow and changed the subject. "Anyway, I can't wait to see Sherlock in his riding gear. Do you think he's ever played polo before?" She bit back a smile trying to imagine Sherlock in sport's attire.

"Somebody is awfully curious about the Holmes boys today." Mary's eyes gleamed with mischief. "In love with them, are you? Oh, the scandal!”

Y/N clicked her tongue in annoyance, off put by the unwitting truth in Mary’s quip.

"I'm only teasing, love." Mary leaned her head against Y/N's shoulder and tried to suppress a giggle. "Come on, I think I see our boys just up ahead!"

The pair stumbled along a gravel path until they came to the main stables behind the playing field. Inside, John and Greg stood next to their ponies, both dressed in their polo whites and helmets.

Greg was the first to see them. "Oi, ladies!" he called. "What do you think?" He gave them a twirl, showing off his garb.

They clapped, both delighted by the outfits. "Your turn, John!" Mary called to her husband. "Give us a spin!"

John rubbed his pony's mane. "Absolutely not."

"Come on, mate," Greg urged. "Just a small one." John glanced at his friends and sighed. He spun in a circle begrudgingly and ended with a bow. "Are you satisfied?"

"Don't play coy," Mary chided. She slid over to her husband's side and kissed his cheek. "You really do look quite sexy."

"You think so?" John pressed his forehead against hers, pleased with the attention.

Greg and Y/N shared a meaningful glance, neither a stranger to the Watsons' marital bliss. "Almost make you want a love of your own, don't they, these two?" Greg whispered dreamily. Y/N hummed in agreement. The Holmes brothers flashed in her mind. There and gone again in an instant. Though she smiled, the inspector's words brought an ache to the pit of her stomach.

She ignored it.

The sound of footsteps sounded from the other end of the stable. "Fashionably late, are we?" Sherlock stepped in with Mycroft in tow. His posture was relaxed and he radiated a confidence that could be perceived as hubris by those that didn’t know him. The polo whites clung to his lithe frame, perfectly creased and tailored. A red stripe ran up his rider's boots, a striking contrast against the bright ensemble. Though Sherlock had never worn athlete's wear before, if Y/N hadn't known him, she'd swear that he'd been riding since his youth.

"Terribly sorry about the holdup," Mycroft called out. He glared at his brother with controlled irritation. He also wore the team colours, though his uniform was stitched with a gold crest on the breast pocket, marking him as Captain. He stepped forwards until he reached Y/N's side. He caught her eyes, his gaze inquisitive. "A gentleman never leaves a lady waiting,” he said. Mycroft's words were deliberate and relayed an intimacy that Y/N had never expected from him before. She studied him, surprised by the soft smile peaking from the corners of his lips. He seemed pleased to see her.

The spell was broken when Sherlock squeezed himself between the pair. "Yes, quite right. Thank you for that rather mediaeval anecdote, Mycroft. Now, why don't you check on the ladies near the playing field instead? I'm sure they're keen to see you. Wives of your colleagues and all." Though his tone was light, a darker mood hid beneath Sherlock's words. He held his brother's gaze with steady defiance, daring him to stay.

Mycroft spared a last nod at Y/N before stepping out from the stables. Y/N stared after him, puzzled albeit intrigued by his energy. In her bewilderment, she nearly missed the gentle touch of Sherlock's hand upon the small of her back. She looked at him, flustered by the doting gleam in his eye.

He moved his hand lower until it wrapped around her waist. With the other, he fetched the reins of his mare, guiding it out from the stall. “John, Lestrade, I’ll meet you on the pitch. Five minutes, no more.” Sherlock dipped down until his lips were level to Y/N’s ear. "Walk with me," he breathed.

Y/N felt a pleasant warmth at the contact. She followed him and though time didn't still, it slowed enough for her to question her affections.

Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes.

Two brothers with distinct sovereignty. Both intent on surpassing the other on every intellectual front. Beyond that, a rivalry existed between them, one that transcended their skills of deduction. Contention came naturally between the brothers. One need only imagine what might happen if passion were introduced to the equation.

“Are you alright?”

Y/N blinked. Her thoughts had raced off and now Sherlock was studying her carefully, concern creasing his brow. He had led her to a garden labyrinth, the scent of English yew unfurling around them.

Y/N braved a smile. He was beautiful in the sunlight. She reached out and caressed the mare that had cantered alongside them. It nuzzled into her palm. “I’m fine,” she said. “I was just thinking about the match.”

Sherlock nodded absently. He placed his hand over Y/N’s so that they both caressed the horse. She could feel his pulse, controlled but forceful against her skin. She met his eyes. She nearly shied away from his focus but he tipped her chin forwards with the shadow of a touch.

“You’re lying,” he said. “You were thinking of me.”

Y/N tensed and the mare whinnied.

Sherlock took both her hands in his own and held them to his chest. “Do you think of me often, I wonder? Do you think of my touch? I know I dream of yours.” Y/N dropped her arms to her sides, numb with anticipation. Though anticipation of what, she couldn’t discern.

Sherlock Holmes was her friend and nothing more. She couldn’t let her silly fantasies seep into their exchanges.

The overshadow from the noon sun cast darkened contours on Sherlock’s face but it didn’t harden the softness of his eyes. Y/N could no longer deny the implication of his words when she felt the push of his leg press her against the labyrinth’s hedged wall. The prick of branches pierced her back but she held her breath.

“Is this alright?” Sherlock breathed. He had already drawn nearer, his body flush against hers. His breaths were laboured, the faint touch of his lips on her cheek electric.

Y/N nodded.

Sherlock pulled back. “I need to hear you say it,” he said. “Otherwise…” he let the sentence linger, giving weight to his words.

“Yes.”

He exhaled as though he were expecting a rebuff. “Thank you.”

Sherlock licked his lips before dipping forwards and catching Y/N’s kiss. He held the back of her neck, the softness of his touch suggesting a fear of fragility. Y/N tensed despite the thrill of their tryst. Her blouse dropped from a shoulder and she gasped at the sudden coolness punctuating her warmth.

Sherlock grinned as he pressed another kiss to her neck. He caught the exposed skin from the fallen sleeve and breathed in the fading scent of her perfume and the labyrinth’s flora. He pushed deeper into the crook of her neck, landing tender kisses along the delicate line towards her jaw.

Y/N stood rigid at first, her chin resting against Sherlock’s shoulder. All she could do was grip at the back of his polo shirt, still disconcerted by his sudden show of passion. “I love you,” she heard him murmur into her neck. Her breath caught before she heard it again. “I love you.”

Y/N let her head fall back on the hedged wall. She felt as though seeing through a veil, unsure of this new development. Just yesterday, Sherlock had treated her as a friend. Though she always wished for it to be true, she hadn’t expected to become his lover only hours later. Mycroft flashed through her mind, but she waved him away.

Why was she thinking of the elder Holmes brother when Sherlock stood there having just confessed to loving her? Mycroft had shown her a rare kindness today, but she couldn’t pretend that it meant anything.

What had changed?

“Sherlock, I —”

“Five minutes, nothing more, was it?” a voice called out suddenly.

Y/N flinched and quickly straightened herself out from behind Sherlock. She peeked behind his shoulder and saw Mycroft standing across from them. He seemed bemused yet his eyes relayed vexation and hurt.

Sherlock turned and faced his brother. “Has it been longer than that already?” he asked jokingly. “Time seems to have gotten away from me.”

“Indeed. You’re already six minutes past the mark.” Mycroft geared forwards, his steps deliberate, his mood icy. “Hello Miss Y/N,” he said. “I didn’t expect you to be the keeper of my brother’s protraction.”

Sherlock looked back at Y/N and grinned. “Our meeting was imperative,” he assured his brother, arrogance dripping into his tone.

“Recreational,” Mycroft corrected.

The tension was heavy between both brothers and Y/N shuddered at their subtle resentment. “Sherlock, lead the mare to the pitch,” Mycroft ordered.

Sherlock stood firmly. “Can’t you?” he said innocently.

“I can’t always be the one to clean up after you. Take responsibility, brother mine. Or else you’ll lead her astray.”

Mycroft’s words were cryptic and Y/N got the sense that the conversation had veered away from the mare.

Sherlock tensed but did as his brother commanded. Just before he left though, he turned to smile at Y/N. “We’ll pick up on this, I swear to it,” he said, pressing one last kiss to her cheek. She smiled back but felt nervous at the unspoken truths writhing between both brothers’ obscured words.

They were hiding something and she was somehow involved.

Mycroft watched his brother leave before approaching Y/N. “This is already a strenuous event for me,” he said to her. “Do not prolong my agony.”

Y/N shuddered. “What do you mean?”

He smiled, but there was a sadness to it. “You look lovely in that dress,” he said, ignoring her question.

“Mycroft?”

“Tread lightly. There are secrets to this tournament that I fear will destroy you.” He sighed. “Take care of your heart, for it will prove your undoing.” Mycroft unclipped the stitched crest from his breast pocket and handed it to Y/N. “Maybe this will help in time.”

Y/N watched as he stepped away after his brother. Her heart was beating fast and the labyrinth’s glamour was slowly losing its appeal.

What had just happened?

Y/N felt as though caught in a web. She couldn’t distinguish sibling rivalry from the threat of something more sinister happening on the Deville manor. She tucked the crest into her pocket, too off put to inspect the strange gift just yet.

She thought of Sherlock. Did he truly love her? It had all seemed so perfect until those last few moments.

Y/N tried to steady the frantic beating of her heart. She would search for answers soon enough. She would unveil the Holmes brothers’ secrets. She would decipher the ragings of her emotions. Until then, there was a polo match to attend. She hoped it would run smoothly but in the deepest parts of her, she knew:

Madness would ensue.

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*grabs you by the coat collar* wanna read Feels Like Christmas?

Hey guys! I hope you enjoyed this!!! I'm thinking of making "Game of Kings" a three part series, but I'm really not sure. It's a maybe possibly at the moment. So, if you're wondering about the sudden click where Sherlock randomly professed his love to Y/N without any context to the nature of their relationship... I'm leading up to that (hopefully). Is it genuine??? Is he playing with her heart??? Protecting her, maybe??? I don't know. And the sitch with Mycroft will come into play too. I hope this fic wasn't too messy.

tagging: @twisted-monster @starryeddie @the-chaotic-cow @turkisherlockian @aephereal @andthevillainshallrises @baby-bloos @cookiemumster1 @eternal-silvertongued-prince @bogginsreadings @lumosouls @spencerrxids @serenity-lattes @msseijii @classickook @starstruck-loner @i-beg-your-pardon-laufeyson @lucywrites02 @danzalladaggers @mrs-holmes @pytharuw @antsn @kabubsmagga @newtsniffles @cemak @sleepilysworld @bakerstreethound

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yyutsuu · 9 months

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hi! your imagine was amazing, thank you so much for answering. i hope you don’t mind but may i request a mycroft x reader again but with some angst, where they have a really bad argument? they can break up or reconcile - it’s up to you!

Argument -Mycroft Holmes x GN Reader-

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!! Angst with comfort !!

Gender Neutral reader

!! TW !! : Argument and smoking/nicotine mentions

Romantic relationship

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Word count: 1098 words

A/n: (I have returned !!) I chose to have a happy ending, I hope you’re fine with that ! I also have no idea what the argument should be about, so I did not specify it, I hope you also do not mind that

This is serving as such a good distraction from the suffocating air in this plane 😭😭

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It was a rainy day, both on the inside and out. You are laying on a relaxing and comfortable bed, the one that you and Mycroft shared. Usually, the two of you would be resting together, but last night was contradictive. Mycroft did not return home, he had most likely been staying in his office for the night.

You knew clearly what was the cause of this, during the night before yesterday, the two of you had an argument, not pleasant at all. “I despise you.” His words hurt like a excruciating stab wound, engraved onto your brain, haunting you.

The curtains were not open, but a faint luminescence emits still from them. The silence filling the air is harmonized by the rain, softly tapping at your window. At first, the tapping was simply background music, but now it seemed to become louder and louder, driving you to the brink of insanity as you hid under the warm blanket.

You decide to finally let go of the comforting embrace of your blanket which is as soft as a feather. You begin to sit up against the chilly bed frame. Your eyes are slightly swollen from the tears of last night mixed with the fact how you did not get the recommended amount of sleep, no, way less than that.

You simply sit there, blankly staring down the thin strips of light that had succeeded in escaped the cover of the gloomy curtains. You slowly and painfully recall the recent events, fatigue weighing down on you as you do.

It was presumptively one of the worst fights you’ve ever had with Mycroft, not psychical, but equally painful. You sat on your soft bed, rethinking the whole conversation over and over again, recalling every single tiny detail as if it only happened seconds ago.

By the time you realized you should perhaps head out for a breather, hours had passed since you sat up, the rain had died down. Getting out of bed was not difficult, you were wide awake ages ago. The very moment you step out from your blanket, the icy cold air bites at your skin.

After getting dressed and brushing your teeth you head straight outside, forgetting about breakfast entirely. It wasn’t too early in the morning, you stuff your house keys into your pocket, the sound of steady footsteps arising from your shoes. The air was particularly nice, cool and fresh, just what you needed.

The grass was damp, water droplets still resting on the emerald leaves that sprout from the earthy dirt. Every wave of sound was automatically blocked out by your ears, granting you the calmness you had wished for. The frown painted on your face, at long last, disappeared.

It was late in the evening when you finally returned home. During your stroll you had purchased some delectable food at a befitting bakery and had a cup of warm coffee.

You approach the front door to your and Mycroft’s shared house. By the amount of times you saw the door, you could tell when someone entered after you left. After you left the door, it had been unlocked from the outside and then locked from the inside. You stood there, slowly extending a hand to unlock the door, puzzled at who could and would enter.

It appeared you forgot about him, you had forgotten about Mycroft for a good couple of hours. “Mycroft…” You mutter, your memory finally refreshes as you unconsciously say his name. Your hand movements stop entirely, freezing up on the spot.

Your heart races, you don’t quite know what to do, open the door or stay out for longer? You knew deep down, the argument did not result into hate for Mycroft, you had said some pretty hurtful things too, but you just didn’t know at all what to do to fix the relationship.

You take a deep breath and place the keys into the keyhole, turning them as your ear takes in the sound of a familiar click. With your shaking hands, you turn the door handle and push the door open.

You look around and observe the room, Mycroft was most certainly present in the area, his once shiny shoes sitting near the front door accompanied with the difference in placement of a chair at the dining table proved that. After taking off your shoes and carefully placing them next to the door you walk around.

He was not in any room, not sitting on any furniture, you had searched most rooms. It was until you plopped yourself down on the couch you felt a small breeze graze your skin, it was coming from the sliding glass doors to the balcony along with a faint smell of nicotine.

You approach the balcony doors, brushing the silky curtains to the side, revealing the sight of Mycroft standing on the balcony. His back was turned to you but you could spot the smoke forming from each drag of the cigarette he made. It is without a doubt, you were not happy at all with Mycroft’s actions, he had promised he would avoid smoking a while ago, keeping his promise until now.

You slide open the glass door, Mycroft immediately puts out the cigarette on an ashtray and turns around to face you, as if nothing occurred at all a second ago. As he turns to face you, you can observe and notice that his lips are quite dry, the cigarette he had clearly wasn’t his first in a while. In addition to that there are very visible eye bags, he wasn’t getting enough sleep.

The moment the two of your eyes met, tears spill from Mycroft’s eyes, he had evidently been holding it in for quite a while. He walks towards you and holds you in a tight embrace. “Please, just allow me to do this for a while,” Mycroft whispers. You are caught off guard by this.

After some time you both head inside and make some tea. Eventually, the two of you talk about the matter and came to an agreement. Mycroft had also promised he would try his best to avoid turning to nicotine no matter what happens.

The following night was better than every other one you experienced, the two of you holding each other in an embrace while sleeping peacefully under the familiar warm blanket. The aftertaste of the argument entirely washed away. The both of you finally being able to receive sleep, the rain had begun again, but this time it was in forms of soft and calming taps on the window.

———

-yyutsuu on Tumblr and Wattpad-

!! Please refrain from reposting my work without permission !!

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teigo-the-explorer · 1 year

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𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙰𝚛𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝙻𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙾𝚌𝚌𝚞𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝟸𝟸𝟷𝙱 𝙱𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚛 𝚂𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚝

PLAYLIST

AO3 Link

* I WILL BE GOING BACK AND EDITING EACH CHAPTER

Part One: It Was A Rainy Day

Part Two: A Study in Pink (I)

Part Three: A Study in Pink (II)

Part Four: A Study in Pink (III)

Part Five: A Study in Pink (Final)

Part Six: The Abbey Grange Affair (I)

Part Seven: The Abbey Grange Affair (II)

Part Eight: The Abbey Grange Affair (III)

Part Nine: The Abbey Grange Affair (Final)

Part Ten: The Blind Banker (I)

Part Eleven: The Blind Banker (II)

Part Twelve: The Blind Banker (III)

Part Thirteen: The Blind Banker (IV)

Part Fourteen: The Blind Banker (Final)

Part Fifteen: The Dancing Men (I)

Part Sixteen: The Dancing Men (II)

Part Seventeen: The Dancing Men (III)

Part Eighteen: The Dancing Men (Final)

Part Nineteen: The Great Game (I)

Part Twenty: Coming Soon

Part Twenty-One: Coming Soon

Part Twenty-Two: Coming Soon

______________________________

Tag list: @bartokthealbinobat @biggerthancalli13 @themartiansdaughter @sunsumonner @silversword7000 @starlightaurorab @melody7 @astudyinlaura @sherlockstrangewolf @neroarrow83 @khaleesihavilliard

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chihoshisai · 1 year

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A Lonely Flower Amidst a Garden

Pairing : Mycroft x Reader / Word count : 1254 / Genre : Fluff and lighthearted / Summary : Mycroft has been injured and stumbles unpon you.

A/N : i recommend listening to "summer" by joe hisaishi while reading this!

Legwork.

There are a few things that Mycroft disliked about his work such as cocktails - interacting with people he deemed as goldfish was no fun - the worst of them all was legwork. Being on the field, having to play an active role in operations that he would usually plan from the comfort of his office were dreadful. Unfortunately, today was one of those days. Things went south unexpectedly as he had been shot in his left shoulder. The pain was one he never felt before, as he covered his wound with the hand from his uninjured arm.

He somehow managed to get away from the scene before things got too ugly and was now walking in an open field surrounded by hydrangeas. To make matters worse, a spring drizzle of rain enveloped the area, freezing his body. Panting, he kneeled on the muddy grass ; his phone had run out of battery and he was now stuck in a flower field with no choice but to wait for Anthea to find his location. Sensing a presence, he turned his head to the left and saw you, your back turned to him, hidden behind a lilac umbrella, befitting the colors of the nearby hydrangeas.

Mycroft winced from the pain, reverting his gaze to his arm. Before he found the courage to stand back again, thinking of asking to borrow your phone, you had already approached him while putting your umbrella over both of your heads.

“Are you alright?” You asked him before seeing the injury on his arm.

“Well as you can see-” Mycroft was cut short due to the fact that you had now crouched to be around the same level as him, resting the umbrella on your shoulder.

“What are you doing?” Taking out a handkerchief from your pocket, you quietly whispered “stay still.”

As Mycroft saw the fabric, he hesitantly moved his hand. You wrapped the cloth delicately on his wound.

“There, it’s nothing much, but I believe it’s better than covering it up with your hand.” You raised your eyes to look into his, giving him something that faintly looked like a smile.

“That was quite kind of you, thank you.” You stood up, still shielding both of you from the rain.

“There is a small hospital not far from here. I can take you there if you’re interested?” In turn, Mycroft also stood up agreeing to have you lead the way. So you did, you walked next to him holding the umbrella. For a while, nothing could be heard but the sound of the rain hitting the flower field. Not wanting to inquire Mycroft about his situation you tried making conversation on another subject

“The flowers are quite pretty at this time of the year. Shame it has to rain today.” Mycroft glanced down at you.

“Indeed, I also would have wished to have walked upon such a place in much better conditions.” You lowered your gaze to the ground, “so would I.”

Many questions floated in Mycroft’s mind. You being here, was it a coincidence or was there another reason for this? Were you really taking him to a hospital? Allie or foe? He had never seen you before, but as he was in a vulnerable position, and you didn’t seem harmful he had no choice but to blindly trust you. In any case, if you would dare to try anything, he was convinced he could manage to escape you like he did earlier today.

“In normal circumstances people would have called an ambulance, why didn’t you?” He inquired, trying to deduce any clues about your intentions.

“An ambulance is unable to come this deep in the garden. They would need to carry you back. In my opinion it’s inconvenient for you and for them. Plus you seem to be able to walk just fine so what’s the harm?” You blankly say. You did not bother looking back at him either, focused on the path before you.

“Fair enough.” Mycroft did not discern any ill intentions from you therefore decided to press no further.

“Plus, this is the least I can do. I can’t just leave an injured man all alone in a flower garden in such weather.” I do not need another reason to hate myself, you thought to yourself bitterly.

These last words made Mycroft take a slight bit of interest in you. He scrutinized you ; you seemed neither happy nor upset by the rain, while giving off an air of sorrow. Your eyes arbored no light, as if something was displeasing you. Yet, you were still strangers. It was not his place to ask about your personal life.

“What is your name?” Mycroft tried to prevent the silence from falling back between you.

“Let’s see… Mary Poppins.” This time, you looked up at him, a vague smile on the corner of your lips. Despite your flat response Mycroft couldn’t help but laugh.

“Very well, so you shall be.” He understood your wish to keep your identity a secret and didn't press further. Appreciating the fact that you also didn’t inquire about his identity and circumstances. Before long, the two of you reached the hospital, both getting in.

“Thank you for your help, you’re free to go wherever you wish now.” He felt his heart clutch at those words, catching himself wanting to spend more time with you. You weren’t annoying, over talkative or too energetic. Despite your gloominess, he liked your knack for humor, was grateful for your kindness to bring him here and most importantly was drawn by the mysterious identity that you made for yourself. Of course, he could easily find all there was to know about you thanks to his minor - yet most important - position in the british government, but somehow he wanted to discover it all by spending time with you. For once, he wanted to try doing what the common people did. Getting to know each other.

“My job is not completely over, I'm afraid. You are not medically treated yet. Until then, I shall remain and make sure you get the treatment you deserve.” You remained expressionless, but a hint of concern could still be heard in your voice.

“Alright, suit yourself.” Mycroft smiled at you, somewhat feeling relieved. Soon after, he was making a phone call, as you patiently waited for him in the waiting room, your umbrella soaking the floor in front of your shoes. He came to you, making sure to show you his bandaged arm.

“You seem much better, I’m glad.” You creeped an awkward smile on your face, but soon returned to your resting face.

“My ride should be here any minute now. I cannot thank you enough for all you did. May I call you a taxi? ” Mycroft looked at you, dreading the end of this encounter.

“It was nothing much. Anyone would have done the same. But I see, may you get home safe, free of danger. No need for a taxi.” Both of you stood near the entrance of the hospital, side by side looking at the grey scenery made by the rain. Far too soon to Mycroft’s liking, his usual black car came. You saw him off, feeling he was disheartened, before his chauffeur closed the door, you couldn’t help it.

“I hope we meet again. Perhaps on a rainy day. I would like that.” For a split second, Mycroft saw a glint of hope in your eyes, but you had already opened your umbrella and walked away before he could reply.

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A/N : will make a part 2 !

#mycroft imagine #mycroft x you #mycroft fanfic #mycroft x reader #mycroft bbc #mycroft holmes #imagine #sherlock bbc #reader insert #bbc mycroft x reader #mycroft holmes fanfiction #mycroft holmes imagine #sherlock fandom #fanfiction #fanfic #oneshot #fluff #hoshi fic

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iobsessoverfictionalmen · 2 months

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If you want to be tagged when I update, fill out the taglist form in my bio or send me an ask!

#my writing #my fics #harry potter #bbc sherlock #harry potter x bbc sherlock #reader insert #female reader #remus lupin #sirius black #mycroft holmes #golden trio era #remus lupin x sirius black #past remus lupin x reader #past sirius black x reader #past wolfstar x reader

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tree0frog · 5 months

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hey! was wondering if I could get a doctor who and Sherlock matchup. I’m female, she/her, 20, bisexual as hell, INTJ/P, Leo, ravenclaw/slytherin, and a new media artist (still in college tho). I’ve got an average build, brown eyes, black wavy hair till my shoulders, wearing cat eye clear glasses or contacts. i honestly don’t know how to describe my style cause it changes constantly depending on my art projects or vibe I’m feeling. I love game design, 3d modeling, interactive design, visual effects etc. I also love reading, gaming, binge watching, digital illustration, dancing, collecting custom jewelry, rollerblading, baking cookies, and listening to video essays/podcasts/audiobooks. My favorite genres are detective, classics, fantasy, adventure, folklore, mythology and sci fi. I love listening to music in a multitude of languages as well whether Arabic, Italian, French, Hindi and much more. MASSIVE introvert except for with my best friends where my unhinged side comes out. Despite being an introvert I’m very comfortable with leadership. I’m very contemplative and thoughtful as well as creative. I’m far from clingy and prefer to keep my own space even if I know you well. I can be a bit stubborn, and opinionated at times however. I’m a huge planner and hate when things go off schedule or when things are chosen abruptly. Think that’s all I got! Thank you!

Hii sorry this took so long

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I pair you with Bill

The two of you together would be a power couple don't try me on this.

I think you must have met when she was seeking into the doctor's classes and she sat next to you,

Bill would sometimes look over to see your small drawing of clocks or a small blue police box.

But when she learned about the doctor it had all made no sense to her whatsoever.

Over the time she travels with the two of you she learns more about you and the doctor but most importantly herself.

You know that meen where it's the couple and one like whats their hot and the other one is like can't see it hun yeah that's you two.

she has a small drawer of art pieces you made her as well as matching bracelets you had made for the both of you.

I pair you with Mycroft Homes

People this is the weirdest friendship they have ever seen.

I think the two of you met when he broke into Sherlock's home and you were just there sitting on the floor with a gaming laptop in your hands and some art thing around you and he was intreated.

Even though he doesn't like to say it he enjoys playing games with you when he has time which isn't very often thanks to his job.

will buy you that new book you have been talking about for a week but won't buy because you have 17 halve stared one in your home.

He thinks it's cute how you have a full-year planer in your room highlighted in different colours for different things.

You have been drunk before and cursed him out in french

#fanfic #x reader #doctor who #doctor who x reader #drwho #tardis #sherlock reader insert #sherlock holmes #mycroft holmes #mycroft x reader #bill potts #bill potts x reader

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lacelynpage · 2 years

Text

My last recital

Summery: Sherlocks funeral hit Mycroft a little harder then he expected.

Word count: 521

Warnings: Mention of Sherlocks faked death, nothing else <3

A/N: Hello Darlings! This idea popped into my head earlier and I just had to write it. Thank you all so much for your support! I hope to be publishing the second chapter of Regency soon, so keep an eye out.

Sherlock wasn't dead.

Mycroft knew that,

He had helped plan it all.

Had watched the plane take off.

But to see the funeral…

To look at the name on that grave…

His arrogant little brother.

His perplexing little brother.

His irritating,

Relentless,

impossible,

…Little brother.

You could feel it in the shakiness of his hand as you walked out of the church.

You could see it in his eyes when they lowered the empty coffin into the ground.

But now you could hear it.

It rang out as clear, clean notes on the piano.

Hidden, just out of his sight, in the door to the ballroom, you listened.

With elegant and gentle touches Mycroft played the piano for the first time in years.

You had often asked him to play for you, but he never did.

He had hated the years of lessons he had been forced to endure as a child.

Sherlock had loved them, but Mycroft never quite took to it.

Still, there he sat; eyes closed as he let his memory take over.

It was a beautiful song, with a lovely yet haunting melody.

Somehow it felt unfinished,

Like it was only part of something.

There was a sigh after the last echoes of the notes had faded.

You watched from behind as he took a sip of the scotch in his glass, setting it back down with a heavy hand.

“It's a duet.”

Mycroft's voice startled you out of your trance.

The rasping in his voice gave away his past tears while he stared at the piano.

As you walked closer you gently rested your hand on his shoulders.

He made no move to look at you, preferring the thin veil of privacy it provided him.

Sharing his emotions was not one of his specialties.

“We played it together at my last recital.”

There was a melancholy to his voice.

“Sherlock always hated that I quit playing, held it over me for years.”

Another slow sip of scotch,

“He would send me things at uni. His compositions, things he thought I might enjoy playing.”

You smiled sadly to yourself a bit.

Mycroft was truly sentimental once you really got to know him. He had many very obscured trinkets in his estate. Small things that other people disregarded in favor of the historic paintings, but all had an incredibly important meaning to him.

With a very deliberate hand he opened a leather-bound book that sat on the bench next to him.

Inside were several stapled packets of handwritten sheet music. They are initialed and dated at the top. He looked through, briefly, and pulled one out.

S.H. 1988, age 12

He places it on the piano and begins. With a delicate melody Mycroft plays the expertly composed song.

He began to lose himself in the peace.

Remembering his little brother who, though he wasn't dead, was in an incredibly dangerous situation.

Slowly you backed away, giving Mycroft the space, he needed to process his emotions.

A swell of music followed your ears as you walked into the kitchen to start making a tray of Mycroft's favorite cookies.

#sherlock BBC #Mycroft Holmes #mycroft bbc #mycroft fanfic #mycroft headcanon #mycroft x reader #mycroft x you #mycroft x gender neutral!reader #gender neutral reader #Mycoft Holmes #love #reader insert #x reader #fluff #mycroft fluff #LacelynpageAnswers

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loganwritesprobably · 3 months

Text

BBC Sherlock Fanfic

Genre: Fluff Character: Mycroft Holmes Reader: Unspecified, they/them

Request?: No

Warnings: Boner mention

#fanfic #writing #loganwritesfanfics #bbc sherlock #bbc sherlock fanfic #mycroft holmes #mycroft holmes x reader #reader insert #gender neutral reader #fluff

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marvelfanfn2187a113 · 2 months

Text

The Same Page Part 8

Sherlock and Mycroft & little sister!reader

A/N: thanks for your patience while I went through a supernatural obsession (it’s still going btw). Chapter 8 is here! It’s a little short, but hopefully you won’t have to wait as long for the next chapter

A/N 2: by the way guys, I specified the reader’s name in chapter one as 17, but I think I’ll edit it out so that the age can be up to interpretation. I think a younger teen might fit the story better.

Mycroft was practically shaking with anger the whole way back to his house. You stayed silent, too scared and exhausted by the day to want to interrupt his anger.

“Where do you want to go?” Mycroft asked as he pulled into his driveway.

“The living room,” you said, as it was still too early for you to try to sleep.

Mycroft carried you to the couch. He didn’t even ask if you needed his help, he was just determined to give it.

…

“Myc?”

Mycroft turned to look at you after he’d set you down on the couch.

“What is it?”

“Are you and Sherlock…” you swallowed. “Are you gonna fight over custody?”

Mycroft stiffened. He hadn’t realized how much of his and Sherlock’s conversation you’d overheard.

“I don’t want you to worry about that,” he insisted. “I…I don’t know what’s going to happen,” he added honestly. “But I do know that there will be no repeats of today. No one is ever going to leave you alone like that, ok?”

You nodded, your hand subconsciously seeking out Mycroft’s. He took your frail hand in his and squeezed it.

“I’m so sorry,” he sighed. “I never wanted this to happen.”

You looked down at your lap.

“Me neither.”

…

“He didn’t listen to a word I said! Not that I should have expected him to.”

“Sherlock—“

“I mean it’s Mycroft, he hasn’t listened to anyone since—“

“Sherlock—“

“But we made an agreement, that we would do what’s best for our sister, and now he’s threatened to bring a custody battle into this and—“

“Sherlock!”

Sherlock stopped suddenly at John’s outburst.

“What?”

“Sherlock, you don’t get it. You think that just because you’re back, things will go back to exactly what they were.” John shook his head. “Well I was here, too, watching your sister for two years. I may not have been as involved as Mycroft, but I know enough. You treated her as though she was the same girl who left, but she’s not.”

“So you’re taking Mycroft’s side?”

“You left her alone, Sherlock. After telling Mycroft not to pick up his phone no matter what. She had a panic attack, she had to call Greg to get her. Mrs. Hudson was out of town. What do you think would have happened if Greg was on a case, and couldn’t pick up the phone?”

“So just as I said, you’re on his side.”

John groaned. “Sherlock, it isn’t about sides. I’m saying you two don’t have to fight over custody, you just have to agree about what’s best for Y/N.”

“But how can we? Mycroft—“

“We can start by actually talking it out.”

The men turned to see Mycroft himself standing in the doorway.

“What are you doing here?” Sherlock asked. “Don’t tell me you left Y/N alone.”

“Of course not,” Mycroft sighed. “She’s downstairs with Mrs. Hudson.”

“I think I’ll leave you two to talk,” John said, slipping past Mycroft and heading downstairs.

“So.” Sherlock sighed. “What now?”

“I don’t know,” Mycroft said honestly. “I don’t trust you with her, and you don’t trust her with me. But a custody battle would…”

“It would destroy her,” Sherlock finished. “It would destroy all of us.”

“We have to agree on this, Sherlock. It’s too important.”

“Says the one who threatened me with a custody battle.”

Mycroft had come to make peace, but his brother’s stubbornness was stirring his own.

“Because you want to drag her back to Baker Street only to neglect her!”

“Drag her?” Sherlock scoffed. “She wanted to live with me, don’t you remember? She chose me over you.”

“That was then,” Mycroft’s voice was quieter, but no less dangerous. “But perhaps things have changed.”

“And you want to take that risk?”

“Do you want to take the risk that a court would choose you?”

This brought Sherlock up short.

“You can’t just—“

“You both are fools.”

The arrival of Mrs. Hudson startled both Holmes’ brothers.

“Mrs. Hudson—“

“Honestly, Sherlock, I expect better from you. I expect better from both of you.”

“I thought you were downstairs with—“

“John is with your sister. I thought it more important to be up here.”

“Why?”

“So I can tell you both what absolute fools you’ve been. Here you are, fighting over what’s best for Y/N and where she should live, when you’ve forgotten the most important part.”

“And that would be?” Mycroft questioned.

“Asking her!”

…

You figured you had Mrs. Hudson to thank for your current predicament. Your brothers had brought you up to 221B, and now you were sitting on Sherlock’s couch, your brothers standing in front of you. Mycroft had finally asked you the question that you’d been dreading since Sherlock’s return.

“Where do you want to live?”

But that wasn’t it. It wasn’t just a question of Baker Street or Mycroft’s house. You had to pick a brother. Sherlock or Mycroft.

When you’d first had to make this decision, it had been so easy. You grew up with Sherlock, you knew him, he knew you, and the two of you coexisted quite well. But now…

You didn’t know Sherlock, not like before. It had been so long, and you had changed so much, that you weren’t sure if it could ever be like it was. And now, you’d gotten to know Mycroft better than ever, and the two of you had gotten used to having the other around. You didn’t want to stop that. But…

Baker Street felt like home. As much as you’d settled into Mycroft’s place, it didn’t feel the same. But you also didn’t think life would ever feel comfortable again without both of your brothers.

Sherlock or Mycroft. Sherlock or Mycroft. Sherlock or…

You found the familiar parasite of anxiety settle into your chest as you tried to imagine life without either one of them. It grew until your chest physically started to hurt, your eyes blurring as your lungs constricted and breathing became not only hard, but painful.

…

“Where do you want to live?”

As soon as Mycroft asked the question, he regretted it. Sherlock seemed to be impatiently awaiting your answer, but Mycroft immediately recognized the glazed look in your eyes, the slight irregularity of your breathing.

He didn’t do anything at first; this was just an early stage of your anxiety, sometimes you managed to snap yourself out of it, and sometimes you only panicked more if he tried to assist you in this stage.

But when your breathing became labored and your eyes filled with tears, Mycroft didn’t hesitate. He brushed past a concerned Sherlock and put his hands on your knees.

“Hey, look at me, I’m right here.”

Your glazed eyes seemed to focus on him, and you brought your hands down to grip his.

“That’s it, just breathe,” he soothed. “I’m right here, we’re not going anywhere.”

Sherlock noted that Mycroft included him by saying we. Then he saw the hand that you were reaching out for him. He took it, but didn’t say a word; he still didn’t know what to say or do in this situation.

He noticed that you leaned almost unconsciously towards Mycroft, and soon enough your panic subsided.

“I don’t know,” you whispered.

“Shh, that’s ok,” Mycroft said. “I don’t want you to worry about it.”

“Mycroft—“

Mycroft waved off Sherlock’s interruption.

“I think you should get some rest, alright? When you wake up, you can get some dinner.”

You nodded wearily, and Mycroft helped you lay down on Sherlock’s couch. Within minutes you were asleep.

“I’m taking her back to my house.” Mycroft decided.

“What?” Sherlock stiffened. “Mycroft, no decision has been made for—“

“Now now, calm down, brother mine. She’s had a long week, I just think it would be best if she rested in a place she was most comfortable. This isn’t indicative of a decision about where she’ll live.”

“What makes you think she won’t be most comfortable here?” Sherlock countered.

Mycroft sighed.

“Because that’s where she’s spent the last two years, it’s familiar. Honestly, Sherlock, we can’t start picking fights over the smallest of things. I just want to take her home for some rest and food, that’s it.”

“So you’re asking me to pick my battles?” Sherlock asked.

Mycroft ran a hand over his face.

“I’m asking you not to declare war.”

Taglist:

@navs-bhat , @isabellavere, @chaoticglitterkitten, @peachycupotea, @justforrose, @severussimp

#mycroft x sister #mycroft x you #mycroft imagine #mycroft x reader #mycroft fanfic #sherlock and mycroft #mycroft #mycroft bbc #sherlock reader insert #sherlockbbc #sherlock bbc #sherlock x reader #sherlock fanfic #sherlock fandom #sherlock holmes

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noforkingclue · 5 months

Text

Sherlock Masterlist

The Body in the Library

Chapter 2

Requests

Mycroft

First Meeting

Sherlock

Approval

Mysteries

#fanfiction #bbc sherlock #reader insert #sherlock holmes #sherlock x reader #mycroft holmes #mycroft holmes x reader

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viktorkrumslayss · 1 year

Text

First meeting headcannons for Sherlock Holmes

I hope you like it if you want a part 2 let me know

[Henry cavill sherlock]

I imagine you and sherlock would meet while he's looking for Enola up in London

You found Mycrofts article in the paper and decided to take up on it but not informing him because he's a sexist twat anyways

You both ended up at the same location and bumped into each other

Literally

He was quite suspicious of you at first because you don't really see many detectives anymore let alone female ones

He'd probably be asking you questions about what your doing and why you're in the more sketchier part of London instead of the more popular parts

You knew he was Enolas brother based on the name and worked your ways round his question by saying you were looking for someone

But continued to help look for enola anyways

He was cold to you at first not letting his guard down incase you were an enemie or someone who would be considered trouble

But even so you grew on him and he offered you to stay with him in his apartment at 221 Baker Street for a little while until you find your 'person'

He eventually completely let his guard down and even considered you his friend

[Maybe something more that he reallyyyyyy wanted but squashed it down because of the need of finding Enola]

You and his sister are his world

He asked for your advice on Enola and where she may be and where you think she would have gone

After finding her he decides that he'll continue helping you find your person until you tell him you were also actually looking for Enola

You continued living with him until he had to go back to Mycroft in his childhood home and you were about to say your goodbyes until he asked you to come with him and Enola

He didn't completely tell you how he felt but it was already quite out in the open and you both felt it was quite obvious

Enola was overjoyed to have an older sister and welcomed you in lovingly but Mycroft didn't accept someone he deemed lower then him but who cares about mycroft

#enola holmes #sherlock holmes #mycroft holmes #x reader #sherlock reader insert

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mesywelch · 1 year

Text

A Night with Sherlock Holmes

Paring: Sherlock Holmes (BBC) X Reader

Summary: Reflecting on your time with Sherlock Holmes as he plays his violin deep into the somber night leads to a few realisations.

Warnings: None

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Gracefully the sun descended down the murky blue sky, travelling with a never-ending burst of bright colour around its powerful body. As it exited the now empty canvas of the darkest shades of blue, a sense of lethargy encompassing its movements as if hanging so high above had drained all of its energy, it passed on its reign to its considerably smaller partner—the moon and its massive army of sparkly, blinking stars. The buildings of London cowered under a thick shadow of gloom, and the moon's white light miserly illuminated the occasional window or passerby. The restrictive view I was presented with of the outside world through my sharp-cornered window wasn't much to keep my attention at nightfall; when the ever-busy human race collectively packed away into their abodes, the long-winding roads of London experienced nothing but isolation from the rickety vehicles for the first time, and when the only living being garnering the spotlight of the street lights were squeaky rats.

However, I needn't worry, as I always had Sherlock to make my boring, sleepless nights worthwhile.

Unlike the rest of the population, Sherlock functioned uniquely. While the average adult might find himself occupied by a heavy load of work during the day, burdened by the clutches of financial stability, like I found myself reviewing and organising shelves upon shelves of books and archives, Sherlock never bothered with money. In fact, he conducted his job free of cost, without any expectations of receiving something in return because the immense satisfaction he experienced merely by taking part in the mind games that his job presented him with were returns enough.

When deconstructing the sometimes complex logical reasonings, sometimes baffling — to Sherlock, trifling — emotions behind brutal crimes, one might picture chaos and panic; an urgency to not waste time for danger could be thrust upon you at any moment. Taking one look at Sherlock would certainly ruin that weirdly picturesque image.

I distinctly remember the case of the mysterious chain of supposed suicides or "Study in Pink", as our fellow companion John Watson had titled it in his blog; victims consuming the exact same pill seemingly with no reason to end their lives nor any apparent connection with each other. Clues weren't adding up, the only leads we had were dead ends, and John's features were corrupted by worry as he entered the room we occupied; he appeared as though he had seen a ghost (which later we found out was actually not a ghost but Sherlock's brother, Mycroft). The atmosphere was tense, but amidst the room existed a presence that stood in complete contrast. Sherlock — oh, Sherlock — laid horizontally inclined on his well-loved, dented couch, tightly wrapped in his blue night robe, and pale bony hands pressed together under his chin. His being emulated a sense of level-headedness, composure and cool - eyes shut, mouth slightly hung open, and body still as a statue. At the time, I admired and admittedly envied his attitude towards stressful situations that he displayed constantly. But, the passage of time taught me that I had just fallen into the illusion that he was this perfect, mystical, awe-inducing kind of being, as one might get the impression of upon first meeting him. Spending a little more time with him, however, can show you a lot of fine details that previously went undisclosed. Like the uneven furrow of his eyes-brows when he stared off into space and the off-beat tick of his fingers upon paper as he went over case reports.

How much ever Sherlock might not show it (saying it was a whole other matter), his mind was forever running miles faster than anyone could even comprehend, only visible to the naked eye through small signs of physical reactions like these. His brain was a machine, efficient and observant to the highest degree. But unfortunately, the comparison could be drawn further. He was cold and soulless, seemingly made of scratch-less metal. His words were prone to the blunt, the straightforward, and the truth. And these tendencies frequently kept contact away — if there was one thing I learnt in my time with him, it was that people loathed being presented with an honest reflection of themselves.

Despite this, Sherlock was still undeniably human. However deep one may have to peel off the layers of his skin to come across it, there was undoubtedly pulsing flesh, hot red blood and a beating heart underneath that façade of impassiveness. And this heart, like any other creature, yearned for something Sherlock would label a major flaw in human patchwork. It yearned for passion — In whatever form it may be derived, even if he didn't realise it himself.

For instance, as he stood staring at the same window I was gazing through moments ago, inspecting the bland atmosphere, a set empty of actors, his long fingers delicately held a bow, dragging it across the strings of his violin. With each movement, with each pull or push of the strings, he created a melody velvety smooth, and he and I bathed in its depth. The notes he played were the only trace of life in the air, for we were nothing but objects in its presence, invisible artists hiding behind the awe-inspiring art. That was the passion Sherlock allowed himself to absorb — the kind that spoke for itself and connected souls in ways no words nor actions could. At first, I used to believe that it wasn't particularly his fault if no one was around long enough to realise this, to realise how Sherlock worked. But looking back, perhaps it was Sherlock himself who didn't allow anyone to do so.

I clutched the fluffy blanket tighter around me, folding my knees towards myself in order to maximise comfort on the sofa I occupied. Memory betrayed me as I tried to recall the day's events, draping a cloud of fog over the images of what were supposed to be work, faces, and... I couldn't swat the white mist away. It always was the case during the night, more specifically when I was joined by the company of Sherlock in the living room. It was like the past blurred itself just so that the present could be ever-clear and sharp. I usually gave in, deciding to take in as much as I could of these moments that littered my life sparingly.

The clock ticked away in the background, its repetitive beat further making me over-conscious of the now. Dragging my lidded eyes away from the monotone city sights out the window, I glanced across the extinguished fireplace, the unlit lamp sitting on top of it, the rotten, yellowing figure of Sherlock's skull right beside it — teeth gleaming under the moonlight — and then the dark kitchen. Followed the door that led past it, an imaginary image of me walking through the hallway to the room at the far end, and finally, John lying somewhat peacefully under the sheets, deep breaths echoing along the walls.

John was never a witness to our nightly sessions. The retired soldier, traumatised by but yet incredibly drawn to the war, the battle, and the chaos, was one to surprisingly follow the average human sleep schedule. It was shocking, really, how he was never woken up by the striking sounds of Sherlock's violin despite having a keen sense for noise. But sometimes, I had the innate feeling that he intentionally ignored it. I was glad he did, though, because how much ever affection I held for the man, he was the kind of person inclined to overthink, doubt, and suspicion. These three words were perfectly apt to describe Sherlock as well, but John's were a slightly varied nuance.

While Sherlock utilised his skill to question everything for his own benefit, John, nine times out of ten, sabotaged himself while doing so — erupting unnecessary worry and distress. A comforting, borderline pin-drop silence like the one settled in the atmosphere as Sherlock ended the piece (an untitled, self-composed one), and slid his pearl blue irises to latch onto mine would only encompass John in discomfort. The anxious aura radiated by his presence would then shatter the calm so intricately constructed by the mutual understanding between Sherlock and me.

It sounds too dramatic, too hyperbolic, I'm well aware, but no other means could convey how meaningful these overnight hours were to me and my sanity in this dying world. I would really like it if John continued to remain oblivious to them. Or pretend oblivious, I suppose.

Sherlock gingerly placed his violin on the couch beside him.

"The only time I can think is when the rest of London wasn't— too occupied by sleep." He spit the word like it was poison on his tongue. "Why is that not surprising in the slightest?"

I let his words hang in the air, pondering his question. Sherlock often found himself susceptible to the meaningless, unimportant thoughts of those around him. It was like he could hear them out loud, like he could read minds. However, such supernatural diction might be disapproved of by Sherlock.

In his own words, 'trivial expressions depicting stress, confusion, ignorance and whatever definable emotion you can think of on people's faces are nothing but translations of inner feelings and thoughts.' And Sherlock being the ever-observant and present person he was, was even more exposed to these signals than the average person — disrupting him from continuing his original train of thought.

He did, although, also confide in me that for people like Anderson, whose idiocy plagued the very world around them, signals weren't required to get the gist of whatever nonsense was going through the pea brain of theirs.

"I'm going to assume that I am exempt from this rest of London you speak of?"

A side-eye; not a trace of hesitance in his voice. "Obviously."

"Hm."

Sherlock went back to analysing whatever he could of the scenery outside. I went back to analysing him. It was a past-time I took part in often, sometimes hours passing by before the bubble around me popped, dropping me harshly back into reality.

It has occurred to me here and there that I may be in love with this man.

Love. Even muttering the word under my breath felt unfamiliar to me, a person who never really cared about fleeting emotions like those.

But it had to be love. Because surely— surely, no one spent as much time as I did picturing Sherlock and his tall frame playing the violin with such grace and care just as he was moments ago — his elegant movements like that of a lily swaying in the wind. Surely, no one understood the sensation that took over my being when his eyes settled on me with such intention and purpose, whether I was looking or not. No one endlessly wondered about what may be running through his one heck of a brain as he deduced a man's whole life story by a mark on the cuff of his shirt— God.

God.

Consciously thinking about Sherlock made me put into picture how much of a miracle he actually was. What I was capable of imagining had to be just a fraction of what he was capable of doing. I loved knowing that he was somewhere above all of us. I loved it.

Sherlock was an enigma, and if it was my life purpose to try and understand him completely, I would certainly do so. Whether what I felt for Sherlock was true love (if that even existed) or a manic obsession of sorts, whether Sherlock even felt anything in return, for I never considered what his opinions of me could be, whether he was even aware of the intensity of the spell he put me under—it didn't matter— I would stick with him.

It was only when my eyes caught the rectangular sheet of light draping over the couches, the books, the papers, and the mess of the living room, that I came to realise that it was the dawn of the new day already.

I stood up unsteadily, cloth-covered feet coming in contact with the carpeted ground, the soft thump of the thick blanket falling behind me onto the floor. My body wobbled as I moved forward towards the window where Sherlock also stood—his position altering between the window and the sofa opposite mine throughout the night. Goosebumps instantly arose across the bare skin of my arms and legs, and I shivered. But I didn't think the physical reactions were caused by the chilly wind.

The early spurts of yellow spread along the horizon like watercolour, rapidly claiming domain in the sky. Soon, the golden sun followed, its body obstructed by the buildings around. I squinted my eyes as I accidentally stared straight at it, but I couldn't look away—the celestial body marked the end of my shared solitude with Sherlock, but it did so mesmerisingly, glowing brightly and ejecting rays on earth, pumping life into the cement. The only sight that could beat the magnificence of the sun, unfortunately, was standing right beside me, and so I eventually found myself staring at sherlock's marble-carved face instead, a hint of a smile tugging at the edges of his pale blush pink lips as he marvelled at the sight in front of him.

It seems as though even Sherlock, the ever-placid Sherlock himself, couldn't resist the delicious temptations of nature — the ultimate source that manifested passion within him. The kind that spoke for itself.

As Sherlock tentatively reached out the fingertips of his hand to garner the attention of my own, slowly swinging them to give me momentary but frequent contact, I thought about how one man – and a man he only was – altered my life entirely in the span of months, making my old life seem discoloured and pointless compared to what I was blessed with now. My undefinable feelings towards Sherlock would only grow as time passed, and even if I lose him — I will try my hardest not to, in the first place — I would not mourn. Instead, I would be thankful that I got a chance to have him in my life. I would be satisfied knowing that a person like him walked the earth.

The sun rose higher and higher, and at the distinct voice of John Watson questioning our presence out in the open at such ungodly hours, Sherlock's hand left mine.

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teigo-the-explorer · 11 months

Text

The Dancing Men (III)

Part 17 of the Arbitrary Lives of the Occupants of 221B Baker Street

SERIES MASTER LIST | MAIN MASTER LIST

Previous | Next

Word Count: 7.1k

Warnings: Sherlock is Sherlock, Sherlock and John fight (Let me know if I missed any)

Author’s Note: Finally finished this chapter! I just want to thank all of you for being so patient. Hopefully, I can get back on track to finishing this series. I’m so sad that it’s almost over but trust me you guys are in for some eventful last few chapters!

Y/N never knew she would hate an overseas travel experience so much more than her flight to London a few months prior. However, that was before she knew what travelling with Sherlock and John was like. She had the overwhelming feeling that she was babysitting the two of them, more so Sherlock than John. She tried to keep her mind occupied as the two men argued over what seat on the plane was the best. Of course, Sherlock occupied the window seat. John, who was ever the gentleman, sat in the middle seat. Lastly, Y/N took the aisle.

Once the debacle of seat choice was decided, they moved on to deducing the other occupants in the aeroplane. First, John would give it a go. Sherlock would listen intently as John relayed the information, he thought was correct about the person, and then Sherlock would correct him.

“She’s dating the man next to her. She keeps looking at him intently,” John nodded after careful observation. He was sure he nailed it.

“Wrong,” Sherlock corrected. “She’s fidgeting with the silver band on her ring finger. She slips it on and then off as she is talking to the man next to her. An expert way of concealing the ring as she’s talking to this man. She’s married to another yet finds the man next to her attractive enough for her to start thinking about an affair.”

“Right. How obvious, why didn’t I see it before?” John sarcastically said.

“Do better next time, John,” Sherlock muttered before pointing to the next object of observation.

John was sure he observed over a dozen people by the end of the flight. The longer John tried his hand at deducing, he found that he had gotten more correct than not. Once Sherlock was satisfied with John’s average observational skills, he moved on to Y/N who intently was reading a novel.

“Y/N,” Sherlock cleared his throat.

It took a moment for the young woman to snap from her literary daze and focus on Sherlock. The book was all too exciting. “Hmm?”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at a man wearing a bright orange shirt in the row in front of them to their right. His eyes pointed Y/N in the man’s direction, and she turned to look at him, then back at Sherlock with a hint of confusion.

“What?” She asked as her hands carefully placed the bookmark into the novel.

Sherlock just scrunched his brows at her unaware that she had no clue what his obscure glances and facial expressions meant.

John sighed. “He wants you to deduce that man.” John offered a sympathetic smile to the woman.

Y/N processed John’s words before asking Sherlock a question. “Why?”

Sherlock looked as if he was about to roll his eyes, but then stopped himself. “It’s perfectly reasonable to train my employees on their deduction skills in case they are needed. John has…” Sherlock looked John up and down, “sufficed for the day. Now it’s your turn.”

Y/N chuckled. “Alright, whatever you say, Holmes.”

Y/N adjusted her seating position so she could get the clearest view of the man of the hour. As the woman observed over the man in the row up by one and on the right side, John couldn’t help how his eyes looked at Sherlock. He saw how Sherlock stared intently at Y/N from his window seat. For a moment, John thought that Sherlock was deducing her rather than her deducing the man in front of them with how carefully his eyes washed over her figure. In fact, John was sure he could see her reflection clearly within his eyes.

“He’s awfully hunched over. Could be reading a book or watching a film, maybe even sleeping with how to calm his body is…”

Sherlock smiled. “But…”

Y/N blinked at Sherlock. “But it’s not that. His slouch gets deeper whenever a flight attendant passes. He’s insecure…?” It was her best guess.

“Close,” Sherlock stated. He reached over John as if wasn’t there and pointed at the man. “He does slouch over more when a flight attendant passes, but only a particular one.”

Then the man in the orange shirt looked over his shoulder as the particular flight attendant passed. His arms protectively hovered over his lap. Once she was gone, Y/N caught sight of a pencil and a sketchbook. The man was drawing the flight attendant.

“Oh,” Y/N gasped.

“You see now?” Sherlock asked before pointing to someone else for Y/N to deduce. “Try again.”

It wasn’t hard for John to take notice of the soft tone Sherlock used to correct Y/N’s deductions. The consulting detective’s voice was a far cry from the reprimanding tone he had used when correcting John’s observations. John most definitely saw how Sherlock leaned ever so slightly forward in his seat towards Y/N’s aisle seat and John most definitely didn’t smirk as he sank as far as he could into the back of his seat, so Sherlock could get a nice view. Maybe these new deduction skills John was gaining were going to be of use sooner than later.

Y/N was able to try her hand at a few deductions before the plane landed in Dublin. Eventually, they were able to exit the plane and find a rental car. John drove the car with Sherlock in the passenger seat and Y/N in the back. She didn’t mind sitting in the back of the car. It gave her an ample view of the Irish landscape as they drove.

She had done some research about Clifden and from what she found it looked like the town came from a fairytale. Located along the coast of Ireland, sat Clifden with its picturesque buildings and homes. Alongside lots of land to explore, a castle, and a National Park.

As she stared out at the passing images of the Irish landscapes, she took notice of everything around her. The skies were grey, as was typical in late November. Sometimes there was snow covering the grounds, and other times there were windy fields of gold and brown blowing in the wind. Despite the gloomy atmosphere, it was beautiful. There was something so cosy about a grey gloomy day to Y/N. It was almost perfect. Unlike days filled with warm sunlight where she was obligated to roam around outside or the freezing stormy evenings where she was forced to stay indoors, Y/N had a choice when it came to grey days. The weather was pleasant enough that she could be outside, but it was also cosy enough to stay bundled up inside. She liked having a choice. It also helped that the grey days usually meant that rain would follow and she loved the rain.

Y/N felt her head grow heavy as her mind was lulled softly by the scenes. For some reason, the hum of the car was all too bewitching. It rumbled in a vivid low tone as the tires of the car drove over the pavement of the roads. The sights began to blur with the sounds echoing in her mind. The perfect combination for slumber and that is exactly what Y/N did.

_____

“Y/N.” A voice called out to her.

She made an incoherent mumbling noise in response. John chuckled at Sherlock’s distaste for the whole scenario.

“Don’t look at me,” John said washing his hands of the whole thing. “ I woke her up last time.” Without another word, John unbuckled his seat and removed himself from the car. His legs were practically begging to be used after such a long travel time.

Sherlock sighed and reached out a hand to shake Y/N awake. Instead of placing his hand on her shoulder, Sherlock’s fingers wove around her hair and found a resting spot on her cheek. His thumb mindlessly brushed up and down her cheek and a small smile crept up on Sherlock’s face.

“Hurry up in there,” John said.

Sherlock’s eyes widened and pulled back his hand from her face. He quickly glanced outside to make sure that John hadn’t seen him. Once Sherlock was satisfied that John hadn’t, he continued his quest to wake up Y/N.

This time his hand found her shoulder. With as much care as he could muster, Sherlock gently shook the woman awake.

“Y/N. We’re here,” Sherlock whispered.

Y/N stirred, and her body sank deeper into the back seat of the car. Her eyes still shut tight refusing to awaken. Sherlock groaned he wasn’t sure that he had it in him to forcefully wake her up. The crunching of gravel behind Sherlock altered him that John was ever present, Hilton was waiting, a case was brewing, and Sherlock needed to wake Y/N up.

Sherlock cleared his throat. “Y/N,” and with a gentle shake of her shoulders, the girl awoke.

Her voice was hoarse as it tried to recalibrate being awake and used. Y/N’s eyes flashed open before narrowing as the light evening light filtered in. She groaned as her body stretched from underneath Sherlock. For a moment, Sherlock forgot their proximity as he took in the sight of her awakening.

“Sherlock?” Y/N croaked.

His mind snapped from its thoughts as he shook his head. “Hmm?”

“Do you mind getting off me now?” Y/N asked.

Sherlock wasn’t on her, so to say, but his hand was still glued to her shoulder and their bodies sat impossibly close. Sherlock tilted his head perturbed by her question, before he remembered that people had something called personal space. A concept that he cherishes most definitely within himself, but always forgot that others had it.

“Sorry,” Sherlock cleared his throat and crawled out of the car straightening his jacket. “We’re here.”

Y/N nodded her head and soon followed him out of the car where she bent and stretched her limbs. Her neck felt a bit funny from the position she fell asleep in on the ride over to Clifden.

“God, remind me to not fall asleep in the car again…,” Y/N grumbled.

Sherlock glanced at Y/N before making a mental note for future reference.

Before any of them could say another word, a joyous voice interrupted. It was Hilton Cubitt in all his glory. He welcomed the trio with a smile and quickly ushered them into his home.

It was a quaint old house made of a grey study brick. While small in stature it was the perfect size for Hilton and his family of three. It was a house that followed the same structure as many others in the neighbourhood: Black pointed roofs, red doors, and window casing to match its crimson hue. Alongside the home was a small garden, which Y/N assumed would be in full bloom if it weren’t for the current seasonal climate.

Hilton graciously led the trio into his living room where they each found a seat on the black leather couch across from where Hilton sat.

“I’m so glad you are here!” Hilton smiled. “Would any of you like tea? Water?”

Although John and Y/N would have loved to have a nice cup of tea, the way Sherlock was eyeing the two of them told John and Y/N that any distractions from the case at hand, including getting some tea, were unacceptable.

“Mr. Cubitt if you could explain to us where you found the latest code.”

Hilton nodded and cleared his throat. “On the windowsill like the last one. Mr Holmes,” Hilton’s voice grew grave. “There’s another. It was out in the garden where I found the paper on the sundial.” Hilton reached into his pocket to pull out another sheet of paper.

Sherlock eagerly took the slip of paper. “What did you do after finding the code?” Sherlock inquired as John and Y/N sat attentively listening.

“I showed it to my wife and she feinted from the shock–fear, I’m not quite sure. That’s when I knew that I should send a photo of it to you Mr. Holmes. If this message got my wife feeling this much fear then…” Hilton shivered. “Then it must be bad.”

Sherlock rose his hand to his chin taking note of everything Cubitt had so far said when John spoke up.

“Could all this trouble be saved if you just talked to your wife?” John asked. He was a bit annoyed with this singular aspect of the case. Clearly, Elise Cubitt knows what the code says and possibly who it is from. One word from her and the case could be solved, the culprit dealt with, and then everyone is happy.

At John’s words, Hilton’s gaze fell and he crossed his arms over his torso, shaking his head. “I promised her and a promise is a promise. If Elise wanted to tell me, she would. If not, it is not my place to force her.” Hilton paused for a moment gauging the reactions of the three in front of him. Something in one of their faces urged him to continue. “You can’t ask her either. She does not need to be put under any more stress and fear.”

Just then a woman and a young child entered the room. They were giggling and chatting as they carried groceries in their arms. The young girl gasped and smiled at the strange new faces in her home before running over to her father. The girl’s mother, on the other hand, had a vastly different reaction. She made quick work of readjusting her hold on the grocery bags removing her hands from sight. Y/N noticed how the woman’s face paled to a bluish tone which made her golden hair grow a sickening yellow. Her voice began to quaver as she strolled over to her husband.

“Hilton, what’s this?” Elise asked.

Hilton picked up his little girl and placed her in his lap. “These people are here to help us,” He said in a soft voice that one would only use when speaking to a child. Except his words were not directed to his daughter, but to his concerned wife.

She did not speak another word as she dropped the groceries off in the nearby kitchen before removing her and her daughter from the room to allow them privacy.

Once his wife vacated the room, Hilton sighed with his whole body and his chest heaved as if he was about to cry. “Sorry,” Hilton muttered as he collected himself.

Y/N looked at John and Sherlock before leaning forward and asking a question of her own.

“If you don’t mind me asking, but has Elise said anything?”

Hilton shook his head and glanced out a nearby window. “She hasn’t…but there have been sometimes where I think she might say something. I was clear that she wanted to, but something was stopping her.”

“Have you found anything out yourself these past few weeks, Mr Cubitt?” Sherlock asked now chiming back into the conversation.

Hilton’s gaze was removed from the window. “Yes. A friend of mine who lives in town found another code this morning. I thought that we could go look at it together when you arrived.”

Sherlock’s raised his brow with intrigue before immediately standing up out of his seat.

No one else had risen from their seat. Each of them still felt that there was more to be discussed, yet Sherlock was a spontaneous man. When a case called or something caught his captious eye that was something he must do the soonest moment possible.

Sherlock’s eye twitched at the stillness in his companion’s figures before clearing his throat. It was his signal that they were to leave and Hilton would lead them to the latest part of the code.

“Right,” Hilton said. He slapped his lap as he stood up. The moment Hilton stood up, John and Y/N were quick to follow.

Hilton quickly retrieved his things before calling out to his wife and daughter and telling them that he was going to be out for a bit. Elise only nodded as her shaking eyes glanced over Sherlock and his friends.

“It’ll only take a moment to arrive there,” Hilton explained as he led the group to his car.

As Y/N opened the backseat of the car, she felt a chill brush on the back of her neck. Y/N rose a hand to brush away the cold when she felt something staring at her. She turned to look back at Hilton’s house and in the window was Elise. The woman gasped upon noticing Y/N’s stare and in an instant, she was gone. The only remnant of her presence was the ripple of the curtain as it fell back into place.

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Strange,” she whispered to herself before sneaking into the back seat of the car next to John.

________

Buildings built closely together: a pub, the grocery store, a hair salon, an apartment building. Each piece of architecture was more colourful than the next. Y/N was sure she’d never seen such a colourful street in her life. While there was some colour in London, there was next to none in Wisconsin.

As the bright colours in front of her swirled into a gorgeous kaleidoscope, she remembered her childhood home– Menomonee Falls. Her hometown in the United States was nothing short of stark contrast. Nature was ever-present in Menomonee Falls from the breathtaking trees as they turned from jade green to a burning gold in the autumn weather and the flowing rivers to the three-step staircase that is called a waterfall.

Even though Menomonee Falls lacked in colour like Clifden, Y/N thought that the community of people was more than enough to make up for it. The people of Menomonee Falls were like their own rainbow of personality. She recalled the tales that she’d heard from those she passed on the street. With a cheerful smile and hello, mere strangers would embark on relaying their whole life story to you.

Y/N chuckled as she thought of her old home, the fondest of memories from Halloween where she’d go to haunted houses in people’s garages and maybe partake in a barbeque or two. The parents’ sore feet and even smaller patience to deal with their children were relieved by the passing out of beer as the children received their treats. Menomonee Falls was home. Y/N shook her head with a smile. No, it was no longer home. Her thoughts cleared as her gaze fell on John and Sherlock as they walked alongside Hilton Cubitt. This was her home–with Sherlock, John, Mrs Hudson, and Bjørn. 221B Baker Street was where she was supposed to be. Y/N was sure of it. She’d call it destiny if she believed in that kind of stuff.

“It’s down this alleyway here,” Hilton said. He pointed his finger to the right and the group collectively turned in the direction. Y/N was surprised at how well-kept the alleyway was. I made sense though, as she had previously seen numerous people before her use them as walkways. Y/N was so caught up in her thought that she almost crashed right into Sherlock’s tall frame.

“Sorry,” she quickly muttered not knowing if Sherlock even heard her.

For Sherlock hearing was something completely different from listening. While he did hear Y/N’s quick apologies for ‘not’ bumping into him, he was not listening. All his attention was on the black spray-painted stick figures on the wall.

It was a shame that the light-yellow shade of the building was tainted by the dripping black paint of the code. As Sherlock observed every detail and position of the figures, his mind was aware noting it all down and connecting the dots. It was just like all the other ones before. Located in a place that Elise Cubitt frequented. However, all the other ones were at the Cubitt home, this one was out of the way. This meant that the culprit must have known Elise’s schedule: Where she liked to frequent, how often she left her home, and what routes she takes to arrive at her destinations.

“...hasn’t seen it. She refuses to leave the house for anything other than the necessities.” Hilton explained to John and Y/N. The two of them listened carefully knowing that all of Sherlock’s attention was on the wall.

Sherlock’s brow raised in intrigue before turning away from the wall to face Hilton. Y/N could see there was a fire in his eyes. Something Hilton had said must have broken the man from his ‘detective’ mode, as Y/N called it.

“Say that again,” Sherlock commanded.

Hilton was startled. He cleared his throat and then asked Sherlock to repeat himself.

“Say that,” Sherlock motioned with his hands in a sort of reverse movement, ”again.”

“She refuses to leave the house…?” Hilton sheepishly said unsure of what exactly Sherlock was asking of him.

Sherlock pinched his brow and groaned. “No. Before that.”

Hilton’s eye lit up finally understanding Sherlock’s request. “Oh, erm, Elise hasn’t seen this one yet. At least I do not think she has.”

There was a drop in Sherlock’s expression. One that only John and Y/N could catch. “Y/N take a photo.” She nodded and quickly did as Sherlock had asked. “Mr. Cubitt. I believe it was a mistake coming here. We need to return back to your home.”

Hilton’s face paled at Sherlock’s words. “What are you saying, Mr. Holmes?”

“I am saying that this was a distraction. You are no longer at the house. Your wife is alone. The perfect opportunity for the culprit to arrive.”

_______

Hilton drove with carelessness. His heart pounded in his chest as Sherlock’s words echoed in his mind. He kept trying to tell himself that he’d be safe, yet love is a powerful fuel for worry. Like gasoline to the flame, Hilton’s anguish grew as the minutes ticked by.

The worry they all felt was only fulfilled when they returned back to the Cubitt household. The sun had set and the only lights around were the street lamps and the lights from the home. The yellow glow was just enough to illuminate a large black figure scaling down the wall. He had climbed down from the window on the top floor. His legs bent when they hit the ground.

The car still had the keys in the ignition when Hilton swiftly removed himself from the car. His long strides transitioned into a dash as he charged the figure with Sherlock and the others not far behind. He called out in fury at the man triggering him to run away.

“Get back here!” Hilton cried as he charged after him.

“Hilton!” Elise screamed at her husband as he chased the intruder.

The woman was flailing out the front door. Her hands waved around frantically. At first, Y/N assumed that she was running to her husband in fear hoping to run into the safe arms of her husband, but that notion was soon destroyed when Elise’s voice yelled at her husband.

“Hilton! Stop! Don’t!”

His love was calling for him and there was no bone in Hilton’s body that could not refuse. While Hilton’s step faltered as he stared at his wife with utter shock, Sherlock and John continued the chase. It seemed too often they found themselves running after or away from something.

Suddenly Elise’s body came crashing into her husband's as she enveloped him in a hug. She muttered something into his skin causing Hilton to grow even more aghast. Elise then looked up and saw that Sherlock and John were still running after the man. The two men were barking orders at each other trying to determine the best possible way to catch the fiend.

Back at the house, the wails of a small child filled the air as Hilton and Elise’s daughter emerged from the house. The look of pure terror in her eyes was enough to make anyone’s heartbreak. The young girl wasn’t the only one who was startled. Y/N could see Elise’s lips quiver and her eyes worriedly follow John and Sherlock as they chased the man. Once night overcame those in the chase, Elise’s nervous eyes locked with Y/N’s.

Y/N saw Elise as she hugged her husband tighter before burrowing her head in the crook of Hilton’s shoulder to hide from Y/N. Everything about Elise screamed guilt as the training Sherlock made Y/N endure on the flight over to Ireland kicked into action. The biggest piece of evidence that caught Y/N’s eye was the woman’s hands. They were black. The paint seemed to glow against her pale white skin. All evidence Y/N had gathered pointed to one thing: Elise was in on it.

______

The air grew tense as John and Sherlock darted across the yard. Sherlock cursed the night. If it weren’t so dark it wouldn’t have been so hard to find the man. Numerous times Sherlock found himself tripping over stones or tree roots.

John was faring no better. Chasing a man in all black in the pitch black of night on a cold November night. It was pure torment. The cold seeped into his bones while his muscles were on fire. It was a horrific contrast that made his breath only heavier.

“Sherlock!” John gasped.

The detective continued in his pursuit.

John sighed as he placed his hands on his thighs and leaned over taking the largest breaths in his life. Sherlock also happened to wear black. While chasing the intruder through the night was somewhat acceptable, running after Sherlock was not. John had spent too much of his life running after the man. Sherlock’s legs were much too long and moved at a faster speed than John’s shorter legs and slower pace could keep up with.

By the time John’s breath finally returned to a reasonable rate, Sherlock had returned. All sorts of frustration were apparent on the consulting detective’s face.

“Gone,” Sherlock heaved.

“Right,” John nodded his head. “Cause how likely would it have been to catch a man in black in the dead of night when he had quite the head start on us.”

Sherlock whipped his head around to John and sent him a glare.

“Where’s Y/N?” Sherlock’s asked. He hadn’t realized he had said it aloud until John replied to him.

“Back at the house. She was smart enough to know not to run,” John muttered.

Sherlock hummed before taking a step towards the house. “Let’s go then. I’d like to have a word with Mrs. Cubitt.

______

“I was scared for –” Elise explained.

“Oh, that’s it then?” Hilton barked.

“Yes, Hilton! I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“I can take care of myself, Elise,” Hilton hissed. “It’s you and He wasn’t believing his wife’s words of concern. He could have caught the man. He could have stopped all this madness if it weren’t for his wife’s pleas. He could help but think that maybe Elise knew who the man was. It seemed to Hilton that his wife was more concerned about the man in black coming to harm than him.

Elise opened her mouth to reply when John and Sherlock entered the house. Elise quickly folded her arms concealing her hands from view and excused herself upstairs where her daughter was waiting to be consoled and tucked back into bed.

Sherlock’s eye was guided along as he followed Elise’s ascent up the stairs. His mind crawled back to what John had said earlier. This case could be solved with a word from Elise Cubitt. She knew. Sherlock felt like it was safe to say that not only did she know the code, but she knew the man behind the drawings as well.

“Hilton–” Sherlock began.

“He left another message,” Hilton seethed as he clutched his forehead. It began to throb under his touch. For a moment he considered going against his promise. After all, Hilton’s loved his wife and daughter with his whole heart. He’d do anything to keep them safe. Even if it meant opening a wound he promised not to touch.

“Where?” Sherlock commanded.

Y/N stepped forward. The code could wait. The case could wait. The Cubitt family had been through enough this night. Y/N reached for Sherlock’s shoulder and nudged him away from Hilton.

“Sherlock…the code can wait.” She looked to John for help. “It’s getting late. We should be going.”

Sherlock shook his head and was about to scold Y/N for even suggesting a thing when his gaze met hers. Her eyes glossed over as she pleaded with him.

“Sherlock–” Y/N whispered.

“Send me the code Hilton,’ Sherlock said. Then he turned to his friends. “John. Y/N.”

The mention of their names was enough for them to understand it was time to leave. They bid their goodbyes and headed out of Hilton’s house. There wasn’t a word spoken as they returned to the car.

Each sat in the seats with their minds afire; thoughts abuzz about the case and Elise. Y/N couldn’t stop thinking about Elise: her black hands, the fear in her eyes, the concern for the man, and the obvious lies that her husband refused to bring to light. The key of this case lied in Elise.

______

Y/N felt like she could practically collapse against the door of her hotel room and pass out in the hallway from exhaustion. The crick in her neck was feeling any better, in fact, Y/N was sure it was feeling worse.

There was a beep and the door to her hotel room swung open. She sighed in relief as she lugged her small bag of luggage into the room. All she wanted to do at the moment was fling herself onto the bed and sleep. That would be an issue, so long as she knew which bed to sleep in.

She rubbed her eyes awake. That wasn’t supposed to be the case. She was supposed to have a room with one bed. John and Sherlock were to have the one with two. With a puzzled look on her face, Y/N pulled out her phone. John or Sherlock hadn’t said anything to her leading Y/N to think that maybe the hotel made a mistake and that both rooms had two beds.

______

The hotel had made a mistake. That’s all John could think of as he and Sherlock stood in the doorway to their hotel room. Both men stood with perplexed expressions on their faces. Neither of them wanted to address the elephant in the room, yet something had to be said sooner or later.

“I’m too tired for this,” John grumbled under his breath. John stepped into the room and dropped his bag on a chair near the bed. “Right, I’ll take th–”

“I’ll take the bed,” Sherlock stated as he threw his own bag onto the bed claiming.

John’s mouth was thrown wide open. He was going to offer up the bed in the first place, being a good friend in all, but after Sherlock’s explicit claim on the bed, all thoughts of John’s niceties flew out the window.

With a huff, John picked up his bag and dropped it onto the bag. “Sherlock.”

“John.”

“The bed is big enough for the both of us,” John noted. His brown eyes glared right at Sherlock’s.

“Wrong. The bed is fit for only one.” Sherlock removed his eyes from John and looked at the bed. The dimensions would never allow two grown men to share it. Sherlock needed all the room he could get with his lengthy limbs.

John sighed. “I’m the veteran.” He was going to pull all the cards he could to beat Sherlock.

“Yes, good for you. The bed is mine,” Sherlock dictated.

John chuckled. “Oh no it’s not.”

Sherlock raised a brow questioningly at his friend. “You sure about that?”

______

The phone was ringing that familiar ringtone that belonged to only one person: Jim. Y/N groaned and rolled off the bed that she claimed was her own. He was only checking up on her like they had promised. It was sweet of him to call her and put the effort in. She could almost say it was perfect if everything else hadn’t also been perfect.

She tried to move past her concerns and continue to see Jim. Yet after her late-night conservation with Sherlock, the more she thought about wanting more. It wasn’t fair to Jim. He was perfect in every way, yet here she was thinking about a curly-headed detective who drive her insane every hour of the day. She almost hated that she wanted Sherlock to kiss her that night. Almost. It was wrong. She was with Jim. She liked Jim. Jim made her happy. Sherlock was her boss. The man whose brother paid her to watch over him. Sherlock was her friend. One of her best friends if she could admit it. Not to mention he was her neighbour and surrogate son to her great Aunt.

Y/N would have continued to think of Sherlock if it were for the incessant ringing of her phone. Against her better judgment, she picked up the phone and answered the call. Her voice faked a smile and she found herself easily able to put the tone of excitement in her voice.

“Hey, babe,” Y/N said. She could hear Jim chuckle over the phone.

“You sound tired,” He noted with his Irish accent.

“You could say that…” Y/N answered. ”How’s work going?” She scolded herself for asking such an ordinary question. She could do better. After all, Jim was her perfect boyfriend, but the conversation seemed so forced with Jim. Unlike how easy it was to converse with Sherlock.

“Well, it’s finally starting to return to normal. Had to clean up a few loose ends after the last consultation,” Jim explained.

“You’re not working too hard are you?” Y/N said. She couldn’t help but be concerned for Jim. She did like him and cared for him.

“No, nothing I can’t handle. Right, well, I won’t keep you long,” Jim smiled. “Just wanted to check in with you and tell you about a t–”

Bang! Something had hit the other side of the wall by her head. The sound jolted Y/N to a sitting position.

“What was that?” Jim asked concerned.

“...I’m not sure.” Y/N eyed the wall carefully before returning to her conversation with Jim. “What were you saying?”

“A trip.”

Y/N could practically hear the excitement from Jim’s side of the phone. “A trip?”

“I’ll some time off of work after my next big project. Thought that maybe you and I could travel a bit,” Jim proposed.

“I–”

There was that banging again. “Jim, I have to go…”

THUD.

“Goodnight love,” Jim said.

“Goodnig–” BANG! “Heaven’s sake.”

The phone went silent as the commotion next door continued. Y/N’s mouth pursed in thought as she tried to think of who could be next door to her when the sudden realization hit her. Her eyes widened in shock. She had booked the two rooms to be right next to each other. The banging was coming from John and Sherlock’s room.

______

What started as an assertion of dominance with the presence of their travel bags on the bed was now a full-on physical wrestle between the two men. All notions of exhaustion and common sense flew out the window when the fight for the bed began.

John was underneath Sherlock at the moment, which was a good place to be. If only he had just enough leverage or a falter in Sherlock’s resistance, then John would surely be able to claim the bed for the night. In turn, dooming Sherlock to sleep on the floor of their shared hotel room.

“Just give up Sherlock!” John scowled as he lodged an arm across Sherlock’s torso.

Sherlock grunted trying to get out of John’s grasp. Despite his smaller figure, he was surprised at how long John had been fairing in this fight. “Never,” Sherlock replied. “You’ll b–”

There was a knock on the door. It rang loud and clear. All movement between the two men halted as they tilted their heads in the direction of the door. Whoever was behind the door knocking tried again when their original attempt was given no answer. Again, John and Sherlock made no motion to move from their positions on the bed.

Then a muffled voice came from behind the door. “Sherlock. John. It’s me,” Y/N said.

If it was quiet before, the two men were now silent. The silence that came after Y/N’s voice gave way to Sherlock's hesitation. John could clearly see Sherlock’s shoulders slightly relax and his grip on John and the bed loosened. It was the perfect opportunity. The moment John had been waiting for, and he took his chance. No longer was Sherlock's body above John’s on the bed, but it was now seat flat on the floor by the side of the bed.

“Is everything alright in there?” Y/N asked the moment she heard yet another thump.

“Go answer her,” John whispered to Sherlock. In response, Sherlock glared at John from the ground. He wasn’t about to let John bark orders around, especially since he lost the bed to John.

“Sherlock? John?”

John briefly looked at the door before hissing at Sherlock to get up and open the door for Y/N.

Clenching his jaw, Sherlock brushed himself off and walked over to the door before opening it.

“I heard some banging noises and I–” Y/N said as she walked into the room. Then she caught sight of the condition of the sheets and the dishevelled state of, both, John and Sherlock. “Oh…umm, never mind.”

John’s face grew a bright red. “Not what you think. Just fighting over who got the bed, that’s all.”

Y/N couldn’t help the fit of giggles that came from her mouth. “Right,” She sarcastically said. “Anyways, I was coming to say the room that I’m in has two beds. I think we mixed up the key cards.”

Sherlock and John shared a brief look of embarrassment with each other as they both realized this entire scenario could have been solved with a quick word with Y/N. They’d both happily be in bed if it weren’t for their desire to win.

“I’ve already got this bed,” John blurted. “Sherlock can take the other bed. If that’s alright with you, Y/N.”

Y/N was caught off guard by John’s proposal and she became a stuttering mess. “Um, yeah–totally. I’m totally fine with it. With–yeah.”

The mere thought of what John had proposed sent a brilliant blush to Sherlock and Y/N’s cheeks; an expression that only John got to bear witness of. John smiled smugly at Sherlock as he motioned for him to take his bag and follow Y/N back to her room.

______

Sherlock had settled quite well into the extra bed in the hotel room that he was sharing with Y/N. He both cursed and thanked John for providing him with this opportunity to be near her. Something was triggered in Sherlock the night that Y/N confessed her discontent with her current relationship and boyfriend. It gave him hope, and hope was a dangerous thing. A hope that burned bright enough for John to catch on. It was a phenomenon that irked Sherlock. He wasn’t one to be easily read. He prided himself on keeping his thoughts and emotions on a tight lip. Yet here was John Watson acting as Sherlock Holmes himself with his ability to deduce his friend. Sherlock was regretting giving John training in observational skills.

Y/N sat on her bed and sheepishly played with the sleeve of her nighties. Her eyes were cast down to the carpet covering the floor. “I’m going to head to bed,” Y/N stated.

Sherlock gulped and nodded. Why was he feeling nervous? “Alright,” was Sherlock’s only reply.

“Are you not going to bed?” Y/N found herself asking.

Sherlock’s breath hitched at Y/N’s words. He couldn’t think about her. He wouldn’t allow himself to recall how peaceful she was when she slept. He refused to think about how warm her body was as he carried her into his bed during the case of the Blind Banker. His breath quickened as he sought something else to distract his mind with. “...I–the code. I’ll be working on the code.”

“No,” Y/N uttered. Her eyes widened at her abruptness. “I mean–It’s late Sherlock. We had an eventful day. You need to rest if you are going to solve this case and help the Cubitt family.”

Sherlock watched as Y/N began to fiddle with her hands. Her gaze avoided Sherlock’s. He had to admit that she was speaking with reason. Every word of hers was justified, yet Sherlock fear his sleep. He dread the thoughts that his mind would produce as he lay there waiting for sleep to take over. He scorned himself for knowing the dreams the sandman would give him that night in the proximity of her. Sherlock had to keep his mind busy and distracted; never giving it the chance to think of her. However, she had told him that it was best to sleep. She had spoken to him while his mind was not yet distracted by the code. She had broken through his defences and Sherlock now must admit defeat. So Sherlock nodded his head and pulled back the covers of his bed. He settled between the sheets and reached an arm to switch off the light beside his bed.

“Goodnight,” he whispered to Y/N as she did the same as him.

He could hear her breathing come to a calming pace. In and out. In and out it went. With each breath into Y/N’s lungs, Sherlock’s mind grew restless. He couldn’t think or dream of her even if it was all he seemed to do these days. So Sherlock would wait. He would wait until Y/N fell asleep. He would wait until he knew he would disturb her sleep and arise from the bed. He’d open his computer and work on the code. After all, the code was the key to the case. Sherlock would be one step closer to solving the case if he broke the code.

______

Comment below if you would like to be added to the tag list!

Tag list: @bartokthealbinobat @biggerthancalli13 @themartiansdaughter @sunsumonner @silversword7000 @starlightaurorab @melody7 @astudyinlaura @sherlockstrangewolf @neroarrow83 @khaleesihavilliard

Also, I linked cyphers for the Dancing Men code if anyone would like to try their hand at solving the code alongside Sherlock.

Dancing Men Cipher - Sherlock Holmes Code - Online Decoder, Translator (dcode.fr)

Dancing Men Cipher - decoder, translator | Boxentriq

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chihoshisai · 1 year

Text

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 :)

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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.

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