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#father!mycroft x daughter!reader x uncle!sherlock
lazydoodlesandfanfic · 8 months
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Answer The Phone (Mycroft X Daughter!Reader) *PARENTAL
Characters: Mycroft X Daughter!Reader, Sherlock X Niece!Reader
Universe: Sherlock
Warnings: mentions of being drugged via gas (fun story, this happened to me once lol), bomb, explosion, burns, unhealthy relationship with parent
Request: Hello could you do mycroft x daughter reader. Final problem the two have really broken father and daughter relationship and they haven't express themselves and because of it sherlock is kinda the father figure of the reader. So instead of Sherlock doing the phonecall its the mycroft who did the phonecall and reader almost said 'I love you ' to mycroft but its time up and mycrift witness the explosion in reader apartment and the Holmes are broken as they heard the shrill scream coming from the reader. Its up to you if you wanna turn out to let reader died. 😊
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It had been a long time since you had actually gotten along with your dad. A long time since tensions weren’t running high when in his presence, well aware that things were one thoughtless comment away from a bicker or an argument. Whether it was wanting something from one another- more affection from him, or a more agreeable personality from you- or just not agreeing on things in general. He often commented on how you were more like your uncle Sherlock, even when you were young. Back then you took it as a compliment, seeing your uncle as a genius who adored you and was by far the funnest uncle in the world, but in your pre-teens you realised he meant it as an insult.
You could never forgive him for doing that, even if he didn’t mean it, or didn’t even realise what he was saying. Everytime he said it, it made you pull away from him even more. Spend more time with the man he compared you to, the only person who seemed to actually care about you. Of course, that was until you met Mrs Hudson and then John moved in with Sherlock. Mrs Hudson kept you company when your uncle was busy and you were avoiding your dad, and she’d softly poke into your home life and your relationship with your dad and try and give advice. John thought you were Sherlock’s assistant for a short while before Sherlock corrected him, acting insulted that he thought you were ‘just an assistant’. When he met Mycroft, he immediately began to understand why you weren’t close, and tried to be a responsible adult you could turn to. In the end, when you became a legal adult, you moved to an apartment much, much closer to Sherlock than your dad, and never in the 3 years you’d had it, had your dad stepped foot inside of it. He wasn’t allowed to. 
You had a lot of feelings towards your dad from childhood to now. Anger, resentment, distrust. A disconnect you never thought and come to accept could ever be fixed. Whenever you needed support, you went to Sherlock. John. Mrs Hudson. Never him. But this time was different. 
You were currently trapped in the said apartment. The one place you were supposed to feel safe no matter what, yet here you were, eyes focussed on the bomb that had been planted in the middle of your living room, the heart of your apartment, with several wires linking to it all across the apartment like spiderwebs. Linked to every possible escape route- the windows, the fire escape, and the only door in and out. You didn’t remember what had happened- you vaguely remember an odd smell as you wet to sleep last night, and when you awoke, you found yourself laying on the floor of your living room, and sitting up and seeing the device. Whoever had done this, had been nice enough to leave your phone right beside the bomb. You didn’t call anyone or even turn the phone on for several hours, scared that it had been tampered with as well and that was also a trigger, but you grew desperate. The first person you tried to call was your dad. You didn’t get through, so then you called Sherlock, and he picked up almost immediately, and you told him what was going on. 
That was about two hours ago now. The police cars littered the streets outside, the complex and surrounding buildings completely evacuated. It was just you and this bomb within a 50 foot radius. Well, for a period of time, both Sherlock and John were on the other side of the door, asking you a billion and one questions about what you could see, and you described everything to the best of your abilities, and it was useful. One, Sherlock was able to piece together it was well made, and whoever made this was an expert and had experience with this- probably a military man, working in a bomb squad or something, and that this was purely explosive, no nails or anything to cause more damage, and due the size, the blast wouldn’t go far past the walls of your home. However, after demanding his honesty, he admitted he also had no clue how to diffuse it, or if that was even possible. It seemed too fragile, that even a light breeze could set it off. That solidified your decision to remain perfectly still within two of the wires attached to your windows, too scared to even touch the glass or move to quickly, remembering his comment on a breeze, and didn’t want to risk vibration. 
You still hadn’t been able to reach your dad. 
“John?” You had asked over the phone. The phone was often being in call between people, mostly Sherlock and John, though Mrs Hudson had called when neither were available to try and keep you calm. It was John’s turn as Sherlock was following leads. 
“Yeah? Is something happening?” John asked. 
“No it’s just… I can’t reach my dad. I keep trying to call him but he won’t pick up… I… I just want to hear his voice.” You admitted. It sounded ridiculous, childish, but you were tired, hungry, and the adrenaline had drained your energy a while ago now. “Does he know what’s happening?” You asked. He was silent on his side for a minute. 
“I don’t know, but I tell you what, I’m going to personally find him, and drag him here, and make him answer his phone, okay?” He promised, and you could hear the anger oozing over the phone, which you couldn’t help but smile at. “In the meantime, I think Sherlock is going to call you later, I think he’s onto something. Hang on, alright?” He said, before handing up. You placed the phone on the floor, carefully standing up, and with distance between yourself and the window, you peered out of it, able to see John as he dashed off towards Lestrade, telling him something, before the pair got into a car and took off presumably to go and find your dad. Looking around more, you spotted Mrs Hudson peering up. She waved when she saw you, and you waved back. With nothing else to do, you sat back down in front of the bomb, trying to examine it to the best of your ability, seeing nothing of importance, before you laid down on the floor, closing your eyes, and waiting.
You flinched when your phone rang. You flinched every time it rang, even if someone had told you just a minute prior it was coming. You reached over, picking it up and placing it to your ear, remembering what John had said. “Sherlock?” You asked. 
“How many pieces of furniture in your flat can you crawl under?” His question was far from reassuring, as you bolted up, on high alert. 
“U-Um, I don’t know, why? Do I need to hide? Take cover? What’s going on?” You panicked. 
“The wiring to the bomb is far too fragile for someone to be able to rig it from the outside after escaping. They must have either found or made another way inside, somewhere where you wouldn’t have noticed. If we can find it you can get out yourself, or we can get inside. Think. Lay on the floor and look around for anything, furniture that you can get under, or furniture light enough but large enough to cover an escape but be able to move from below. Be. Careful. Watch the wires. Call me back if you find anything, I’m on my way back.” He said before hanging up, leaving you alone with silence and overwhelming pressure. You looked at the wires around you, before trying to think of the best places for someone to hide a hatch- under the coffee table, the recliner that you knew was easy to move, your wardrobe in your room which had some crawl space underneath, and for you, the most creepy- under your bed. You quickly checked under your coffee table in front of you, of course finding nothing, because of course that would be too easy. Your recliner was across from you, so after a deep breath, you got down on the ground, and carefully crawled under the wires, spotting a wire that was too low to crawl under, and you stood and carefully stepped over it. You then carefully moved your recliner, checking underneath, and found nothing. That left your bedroom. 
Your phone rang again, and your cursed yourself, realising you left it beside the table, and you hurriedly but carefully moved back, grabbing it and answering it. “Hello? Sherlock?” 
“Y/N?” Your dad’s voice caught you off guard, and you gasped in surprised. “What’s going on? John told me to call you and said it was dire.” He asked. A relief came over you just from hearing his voice, your eyes burning as you sniffed. 
“Dad… it’s bad.” You started, getting silence on the phone. “There’s… someone put some sort of sedative gas into my flat when I went to bed and broke in- they moved me into the living room and- there’s a bomb. There’s a bomb in the living room and it’s wired up to every escape and I can’t get out and I’m scared and I don’t want to die-” You rambled to him before you heard him finally repeating your name to try and interrupt you. 
“Y/N, Y/N, breathe. Is Sherlock working on it?” He asked, that last sentence sound a little distance, and you faintly heard John confirm in the background, before he returned to the phone. “Alright. Sherlock’s working on it. What has he told you?” 
“He um… He said that he thinks there’s a secret entrance somewhere- and that’s how the person who did this escaped after rigging everything. He told me to look for it- I’m going to check in my bedroom next.” You explained to him, looking over, being relieved when you saw no wire attached to the door. 
“Is that door rigged?” 
“No. Hold on, I have to crawl under the wires.” You explained, getting back down, crawling under the wires, before reaching it the door, and holding the phone to your ear. “Okay, I’m at the door.”
“Do you feel like a secret agent?” He asked, catching you off guard. 
“What?” You asked, pausing in your plan. 
“Crawling under and over the wires. It’s like the laser lights and those agents avoiding them. You used to love those movies when you were little. You thought that was what Sherlock did in his cases.” He reminisced. A faint smile met your lips. You’d totally forgotten about that. 
“Yeah… I remember one time when I pulled out all the red thread from a jumper you had gotten me, pinning it all over the house so I could pretend to be a secret agent and then using it to make an information board… you were so mad when you came back home because the jumper was some expensive brand and I’d made the board on a wall and wrote on it and everything… sorry about that.” You told him, somehow finding the energy to chuckle pathetically. 
“Don’t apologise.” Mycroft told you. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. You were 6, you were just being a child.” He pointed out. “I’m… I’m also sorry that I didn’t answer your calls. I should have known something was wrong when you kept trying to reach me.” He apologised. You hummed, before you realised something. 
“This is the first time we’ve been able to actually talk without bickering or arguing in years.” You pointed out. You heard him sigh. 
“When this whole mess is over, I promise you we’re going to have a proper family dinner, catch up, and actually talk. No bickering. No arguing. A genuine conversation. How does that sound?” He asked. You smiled to yourself. This was the best thing that had happened all day, not like that was hard. 
“Yeah. Let’s hope the escape is in my room.” You said, remembering your task. You reached out, grabbing the handle of your bedroom door, and opening it, and pulling the door open. “Hey, you know, despite not really getting along my whole life, I want you to know that I do love-” You looked up to search your room, but the sound of a beep made your eyes focus on the bomb attached to your bedframe, this one a lot bigger, that was rigged to your bedroom door, that you had just set off.
Mycroft heard you gasp, the sound of you running, hearing you muttering repeatedly ‘no, no, no, no”, the sound of you trying to open a door before the call ended. “Y/N?” Mycroft asked. He heard nothing. He tried calling you back, and it didn’t even ring. He got an awful feeling in his stomach and he wanted to be sick, but he looked up at John who looked confused at what was happening, having not heard what he’d heard. “Get me to her flat right now.” 
By the time the pair arrived on your street, it was already blocked off and there was more than one firetruck trying to subdue the fire that was blazing where your flat used to be. Mycroft didn’t speak as he approached, seeing the sight, realising what it was exactly that he heard. He heard his daughter realise she triggered an explosive. He heard his daughter run across the one place she was meant to be safe to the front door. He heard his daughter try and open the door, and realise it was locked and she was trapped inside.
He heard his daughter die, terrified and alone. And for what? Why? Why not him, or Sherlock? He wanted to be angry, demand answers, find who did this and get revenge even if it isn’t lawful, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t find it in himself to be angry right now. Only guilty. He should have spent more time with you. He should have tried harder to be a better parent to you, he should have been kinder, more understanding. He should have been there. 
“John! Mycroft!” Mycroft didn’t hear Mrs Hudson at first as she dashed over as quick as she could- she was sobbing and sniffling, clutching a handkerchief to her face as she approached. 
“Mrs Hudson, what happened?!” John asked alarmed and out of breath. 
“There was a second bomb in the bedroom, when she opened the door it set it off.” She explained. Mycroft finally looked away from the blaze to look at the woman. The call had ended only 20 minutes or so prior, and since the flat was still in fire, so there was no way to examine the scene. 
“How do you know that?” He asked her. She didn’t say anything, simply grabbing his arm and pulling him down the street, pass the firetrucks, past the police who looked defeated, and towards an ambulance. The back doors were open, and inside he was able to see two paramedics tending to someone in the bed. He felt his heart leap into his throat as he sprinted to the edge and jumped inside, able to finally see your face, an oxygen mask over your face, burns littering your body, and you were unconscious as a paramedic was placing bandaging on one of your burns. “Is she okay? Is my daughter okay?” He demanded answers, one of the paramedics looking up at him. 
“She’s suffered burns and blunt force trauma from the explosion. She was conscious when she was able to get out, but she fell unconscious, and we need to get her to the hospital now. Please sit down if you’re coming with her.” He instructed, and Mycroft followed and sat down. He turned, seeing John and Mrs Hudson stood, staring at you. 
“Please make sure Sherlock finds out who did this. They need to pay for this.” Mycroft demanded. John nodded firmly, before the doors shut, the sirens turned on and the ambulance began to move. Mycroft put his whole focus on you, making sure your chest moved up and down, looking for any sign of you waking up, and more importantly, any sign you were in pain. He only saw you breathing, and he decided for now he should be thankful for that. He didn’t know what exactly he was going to do, but he knew that somehow, someway, he was going to fix this. He was going to make everything better. He had to.
Hope you like it! If you have any questions, please send them in!
*Not my gif
TAGS: @holy-tea-cup-blog @sassy-specter @keenmarvellover @multifandomfix @sleutherclaw @otterly-fey @courtneychicken @graysonmalfoy @bellero @originalpottervengerlock @supernatural-pan @esoltis280 @lady-of-lies @lenaswritingandstuff @macbetheliza @mandywholock1980 @cdwmtjb8 @caswinchester2000 @determinedpines@huntheimpossible @automaticbakeryfreakshoe
198 notes · View notes
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535,600 minutes
Characters: Mycroft Holmes x reader
Summary: Snapshots of your first year with Mycroft, and how he adjusts to being part of a pair.
Word Count: 1924 words
Prompt: ‘How about Mycroft doing something seasonal.’
A/N: This one is for the wonderful @theweepingvulcan91. I couldn’t decide on a season, so I went with four, because who doesn’t want a whole year of Mycroft Holmes?
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You met the elusive Mycroft Holmes in the spring. The details of how you both found yourselves at this particular gathering were lost to memory, but Mycroft was standing by a trestle table in the terrace gardens of Yardley Hall, failing to conceal his confusion and precisely how horrific he was finding this event. Small children were everywhere, which meant squealing and sticky hands and chaos. They were running around, searching (and ruining) the topiary in their search for small chocolate eggs, while a man, who Mycroft suspected was Colonel Yardley, was scampering about dressed as a terrifying giant rabbit.
“Which of these delights are yours?” Turning to his right, his scowl was met by amusement, causing his sour mood to melt just a little.
“Technically, none.” He took the flute of champagne you offered, mentally scanning your fingers for any signs of a wedding ring.
“Technically? That’s intriguing.”
“My brother’s friend has a daughter and they felt this would be a ‘fun’ Easter activity for her.”
“So, you are here for your brother’s friend’s daughter?” The way your brow furrowed while the corners of your lips curled up was enchanting, and Mycroft found himself momentarily distracted.
“I am merely their ticket in.”
“And yet, you are still here.”
“I am. And you? Which of these delights are yours?” He watched your response curiously, trying to deduce as much as he could.
“Oh, I am just here as a wingman to my friend who has a huge crush on some single father who is here. Honestly, we just kinda crashed, but I am trusting you not to tell on me.” Your eyes glinted with mischief and Mycroft realised he was chuckling.
“Your secret is safe with me, my dear.” Clinking his glass to yours, he wondered how long he could get away with monopolizing your attention. Unfortunately, fate, or rather his brother, intervened.
“Here’s Uncle Mycroft, Rosie. I am sure he will be more than happy to help you discover the last of the eggs.” Sherlock smiled brightly at the little girl, allowing his smile to tighten as he looked at his brother.
“Sherlock, I-“
“John is busy talking to a rather uncomplicated woman and Lestrade just called. As a responsible adult, I am leaving Rosie in your care until John is done. Goodbye, brother mine.” And with that, Sherlock strode off.
“Uncle Mycroft.” Rosie tugged at his coat, and he tried his best to hold back a frustrated sigh. “The bunny has put out more eggs, Uncle Mycroft.”
“Then we shall take your basket and see if we can ascertain their location.” His nose scrunched slightly as the four-year-olds sticky hand slipped into his, then turned to give you an apologetic smile, only to be stunned to find you crouching down to address Rosie.
“Which eggs are we looking for? What colour is the best?” You asked earnestly.
“Pink. They are bright and you can see them more so you can get lots.”
“Ah, so pink is easiest to see. I’m guessing, with that being the case, there are possibly a LOT of green ones still hiding. How about you look for pink, I will look for blue, and your uncle can look for green because I think he should take the hardest challenge.” You smiled teasingly as you looked up at Mycroft, who was suddenly imagining a whole future life with you.
Twenty minutes later, John was standing on the terrace, frantically scanning the garden as he searched for Sherlock and Rosie. His eyes widened with surprise however, when he spotted Rosie sitting on Mycroft’s shoulders as she reached up into a tree for an egg while a rather attractive stranger held the basket up for the treasure to be placed. This was a side of Mycroft he had never seen, and he considered filming a little to send to Sherlock. Mycroft looked happy and relaxed, and John couldn’t help but wonder if that was down to you.
The summer heat was stifling, and Mycroft wondered why on earth you had insisted upon meeting him in Hyde Park at the hottest part of the day. It was so warm he’d already had to remove his suit jacket, hanging it over his arm as he searched the vicinity for your presence.
“Mycroft! Over here!” His head whipped around at the sound of your voice, and the reasoning for such a venue became apparent.
“My darling, a picnic?” He looked skeptically at the blanket you had spread in the shadow of a huge tree.
“I have blankets to prevent you getting grass stains on your suit. Everything is in containers which can be closed while not in use so there will be no surprise insects in your food. We are in the shade, so you won’t burn. I have a fan, so you won’t over-heat. The drinks are on ice, I’ve brought all your favourites, I know how much you despise eating outside, but I was rather hoping you would make an exception, just this once, as the weather is so glorious.”
“How could I ever deny you anything?” He gave you a soft smile, appreciating how much effort you had put into this compromise.
Sitting next to you on the blanket, he rolled up his shirt sleeves and picked up a container of your favourite fruit, already cut into perfect bitesize chunks. Peeling off the lid, he carefully picked up a piece and offered it to you, silently elated when you ate it directly from his fingers. If this was where compromise led, then he vowed to be more compromising for you in the future.
The afternoon was spent laying in the warm breeze, reading and talking. At one point, he was sat with his back against the tree and your head resting in his lap, and he wanted to bottle that moment up and store it away in his mind palace, untainted forever. The scent of the grass and the dry earth at the base of the tree, the mixture of heat and mild caress of the breeze from the fan, the texture of your hair as his fingers toyed with it in a distracted manner, the weight of your head against his thigh, the soft susurration of the pages turning and gentle sighs which fell from you as you read. This moment right here was perfect. You were perfect. The last four months had been perfect. He wanted this to be his reality, his always.
“This is ridiculous.” He huffed, adjusting his collar once more. “If you wanted to get all dressed up then there was a masked ball we could have attended.”
“Mycroft, you look incredibly dashing, and you do not fool me for one instant. You enjoy dressing up just as much as I do.”
“That is-“
“Lady Bracknell.”
“How did-“
“Sherlock.”
“Ah. Sherlock.” He grumbled with a frown.
“It is Halloween, Mycroft. One party.” You hummed as you smoothed down his shirt.
“One party.” He nodded, psyching himself up for the teasing he knew would inevitably come from his brother.
“I think you make a rather stunning Victor Frankenstein.” This compliment had him smiling despite himself.
“Yes, well, you picked out the costume so I would hope so. I do think, perhaps, nobody will be looking at me when they see you. Exquisite, as always, my dear.” He tenderly caressed your cheek before leaning in and placing a gentle kiss to your lips, not wanting to mess up your make-up.
“Maybe next year you could be one of those detectives from those films you like to watch, we could do a little role play.” Your smile was mischievous, and Mycroft felt a heat roll through him.
“That is a role play we would most certainly not be doing in public.” He growled, pressing you close to him.
“Now there’s a thought. Sadly, we have a party to attend.” You pushed him away, leaving your hands on his chest. “But I will absolutely take that scenario into consideration for a later date.”
Watching you sweep out of the room, Mycroft knew he was left standing there, grinning like a loon. Just when he thought you could not possibly get any better, you threw something like that onto the table.  In the back of his mind he thought, ‘I really need to get a ring’.
The howling wind battered the rain against the window, but it was barely audible over the crooning of Michael Buble which filled the room. The scent of pine was far too strong for Mycroft’s liking, and the pine needles littering his carpet were irking him, but watching you carefully unpacking various baubles made his irritations shrink significantly.
He did wonder quite how you intended to dress the tree, as the only light in the room came from the crackling fireplace and the fairy lights he had fought to wrap around the branches not so long ago. Regardless of his misgivings, he observed you assessing the tree before hanging the first of many ornaments from the branches.
“Are you going to stand there all evening, or are you coming to help me?” You asked with amusement, not even turning to look at him. Mycroft instantly moved to lean against the mantle above the fireplace, glass of whiskey in his hand.
“I was rather enjoying your masterclass in tree decorating, my darling.”
“Really? And here I was thinking you were just afraid of the tree falling on you again.” This earned a scoff from him and a light peal of laughter from you.
“It did not fall on me, it just became a little unbalanced.”
“Well, come over here and make sure I don’t become ‘a little unbalanced’ while I try to put the star on the top.”
Mycroft placed his glass down and moved to stand behind you, his hands coming to rest on your hips as you stretched up.
“Here, let me.” He murmured in your ear, his fingers trailing up your arm and taking hold of the ornament slowly, enjoying how you shuddered slightly at his touch. Placing the star on the top of the tree, he smirked as he pressed himself against your back.
“Perfect.” You hummed, turning your head slightly to look at him.
“Is this likely to be a tradition?” He asked as his eyes met yours. The lights from the tree illuminated your skin, making you look ethereal.
“I know how much you like a tradition.”
“I am rather traditional like that.” He smirked, leaning in a little closer as he wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.
“Yes, you are. It is one of the many things I love about you.” You smiled as you placed a soft kiss to his cheek.
“You have a list? That is interesting.”
“You don’t?” You raised an eyebrow as you suppressed a giggle.
“I have a whole filing cabinet full of dossiers.”
“That was smooth, Mr Holmes. Very smooth. Well, before we get into a rather entertaining argument about who has the bigger list, I am going to get the vacuum and get rid of the pine needles. I know that just knowing they are there, hiding, is itching at the back of that brilliant mind of yours.” You moved to leave, only for him to pull you back against his chest.
“And that is another of the multitude of reasons why I love you.” He grinned before thoroughly kissing you. Christmas morning couldn’t come soon enough, he could only hope that your answer would be yes.
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multific · 2 years
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Late at Night
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Mycroft Holmes x Reader
Summary: You were never a heavy sleeper, nor was Mycroft, but lately you had a reason to stay up almost all night.
Mycroft walked into his house, it was extremely late, he only hoped you'd already be in bed, he would hate if you waited for him for so long.
He undid his tie and walked into the kitchen. A hand-written note waited for him on the fridge.
Dinner on the plate, I made your favourite. 
XOXO
Normally, he wouldn't care about a note like this, but since it was you who wrote it, he cherised it as he placed it on top of the fridge before opening it and indeed, a nice plate of his favourites awatied him.
After having his late dinner and a quick shower, Mycroft walked into the bedroom, finding you asleep.
You didn't even move only soft snores could be heard as you dreamed on. Mycroft smiled a little before running a finger down your cheek.
He then stood up as he heard a small noise in the room next door.
Mycroft decided to check out the noise himself, letting you sleep, he closed the door behind himself before walking into the smaller room.
In the room, right in the middle laid his daughter. Small little girl, born not even two months ago. 
Viola Holmes was barely born but she already had her father in the palm of her little hands.
Speaking of little hands, Mycroft noticed her reach into the air, her eyes closed as she started to whine. Mycroft let her as she gripped his finger, Mycroft smiled, proud of the strong grip his daughter had, she was surely a strong baby, and a very loved one.
Sherlock often said during your pregnancy how he didn't care and how sorry he felt for you to give birth to the child of Mycroft. 
But just like the others, he fell in love with the smallest Holmes very quickly. 
Her room was filled with gifts, some still not opened, she was very well loved.
But Mycroft loved her the most.
"My Little One, never forget, Daddy and Mommy loves you the most. Your grandparents might try, so will your uncle, but its us who loves you the most." he placed a kiss to her forehead before walking out of the room.
Soon, Mycroft found his place as well, right beside you, where he belonged. It's what he called home, you, you made his cold house into a home, you made his cold heart melt, it was all you.
And God knows he loved you more than anything, more than he ever showed.
 You moved in your sleep, over to him, you placed your hand on his chest, he noticed the gold band around your finger shimmer in the moon light.
Yes, Mycroft Holmes was finally home.
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~Masterlist~
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imagine-by-susu · 6 years
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Father!Mycroft x Daughter!Reader x Uncle!Sherlock - Exhausting
A/N: Finally! I finally finished something. God it took me years XD Sorry but there was a lot on my mind the past months, but now everything is going to be better and thank you all for your patience.
Thanks to the anon for the nice request And a special thanks to @huxy-baby for beta reading this and helping out a bit :3
Requests are open
Fandomlist Masterlist of 2017 Masterlist of January 2018 Masterlist of Feburary 2018 Masterlist of March 2018 Masterlist of April 2018 Masterlist of May 2018
GIFS ARE NOT MINE! Word Count: 1.064
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“Please, Papa.” you begged your father, your hands clasped together and a pout on your face. Said man sighed and rubbed the bridge of nose with his thumb and pointer finger.
“(Y/N), you know very well that your Uncle has a tendency to bring himself in danger? I can’t let that happen to you.” with a frustrated sigh you rolled your eyes at him.
“I can take care of myself, besides Dr. Watson is there, too, so Uncle Sherlock won’t do anything too stupid. Pretty please.” you begged again hoping to finally break your father.
Mycroft Holmes was a ice cold man. Not relying on any feelings, but when it comes to his daughter, you, he had a hard time not to feel any kind of overprotectiveness.
“Only for today and I will pick you up at Seven.” a squeal made Mycroft jump a bit from his chair as your arms wrapped around him continuing with many thank you’s into his ear.
Kissing his cheek, you let go of him, a wide grin on your face.
“See you later,” and with that last goodbye, you were out of his office, saying farewell to his assistant Athena on your way down to the entrance.
Giggling like a madwoman, you stepped out into the fresh air. At the entrance stood your Uncle, Sherlock Holmes the very first consulting detective, tipping away on his phone.
“Who are you texting?” you asked him and quickly he put away his phone into his coat pocket.
A grin played onto your lips.
“Your girlfriend?” your uncle rose an unimpressed eyebrow at that as you giggled again. He never understood the moods of teenagers, especially those from his own niece.
“Do you want to join me on the case or not?” he questioned back and immediately you stopped giggling, going into a serious mode.
“What do we do first?” you asked him as you both called for a cab. As one of the black cars stopped in front of you, you both stepped in as your Uncle explained you everything you needed to know for this case.
He was kind of thrilled to have someone interested in the things he said and did, unlike his brother or John who doesn’t understand half of the things Sherlock explained to him.
-
“I had never thought that it was the Son.” you said as you and your Uncle entered his flat at Baker Street.
“I mean, he was not much older than I am.” stepping into the flat you were greeted by chaos, typical for your Uncle.
Sherlock turned to you a tiny smile at the corners of his lips.
“There you can see that everyone is capable of a murder. Even you, but I am sure that you would’ve done it better.” He turned to you but stopped as he saw you passed out on his sofa.
Maybe he shouldn’t have let you take down the murder. It was a bit too much he had asked of you. Not really caring that much about it, he sat down in his own armchair.
-
 Punctual as ever, Mycroft stood at his brother’s flat door at 7 O’clock straight. With a light knock, he entered. He was greeted by the typical chaos, Sherlock in his armchair and you passed out on the sofa.
“What have you done to her Sherlock?!” Mycroft asked his brother as he walked to his daughter, examining her for any injuries.
Opening one eye, Sherlock watched his older brother for a moment before he closed his eye again.
“We had a little run in the end. For half the day we walked around London, but I am sure she handled that one pretty well.”
Clenching his hands into fists, Mycroft turned to Sherlock.
“I told you to look after her!” his voice boomed a bit too loudly. Sherlock sighed and opened his eyes to get a better look on his brother.
“And I did. She was great help if I may add. (Y/N) has a talent, but she is exhausted. Maybe the school was a bit tiring for her.” the older Holmes looked to the ground trying to calm himself down.
“You are here already?” a sleepy voice came from the other side of the room. Both Holmes Brothers turned around to look at you.
You sat upright on the sofa rubbing your (Y/E/C) eyes, stifling a yawn. With a happy smile you looked up at your father.
“This was the best day of my life, Father. I learned so much and I even caught the murderer.” Sherlock signaled to her to shut her mouth at that, but it was too late and Mycroft sent daggers at his little brother.
“You let her near the murderer?!”
“As if I can stop her if she wants something.” Sherlock retorted back and made Mycroft fell into silence. For that one moment Sherlock was right, but he would never admit that.
“For God’s Sake she is only 14.” he hissed at his little brother before he turned to his daughter.
“Don’t be mad at Uncle Sherlock. He did everything he could do to get my as far away from danger as he could. This is why I am so exhausted. All this research made me tired. Just let’s go home.” again you stifled a yawn and Mycroft couldn’t be mad at either you nor his brother anymore.
He sighed and guided you to the door, but before he left the flat completely, he turned one last time to his brother.  
“Thank you.” these words were quiet but Sherlock heard them, to his surprise.
Mycroft left quickly, behind his daughter as she was mumbling about the case all the way to their home.
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specialagentlokitty · 3 years
Text
Sherlock x Daughter!reader - look after yourself
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How are you going! Hope it’s good! Could you do a Sherlock x daughter reader? One where she is obsessed with making her dad proud (after mycroft says something about Sherlock never wanting kids) and she stops caring for herself like working too hard on cases forgetting to sleep eat. Spending free time on school work and experiments while the whole time Sherlock is extremely worried, he loves her no matter what so he tries to encourage her to eat but he doesn’t know how bad it is until she collapses into his arms on a crime scene? Then like he nurses her back to health? Sorry if this is way too much lol thanks anyway! - Anon💜
Having Sherlock Holmes as you father was a strange life. He adopted you when you were just a kid, finding you on one of his many cases, he somehow felt a connection with you and decided to adopt you.
While he was smart, cunning, observate. You found it hard to fill those shoes, yes, you were smart, but not in his level.
With your exams next year, you realised to walk in his path, you would have to ace them. So you spent a lot of time studying, one thing him and John never thought twice about.
You were sitting in the cafe next door, working on a report when someone sat at the table with you.
“Hey uncle Mycroft.” You smiled.
“Yes, hello child. Where is Sherlock?” He asked.
You shrugged a little, sipping your drink as you set your pen down.
“No idea, I’ve been here all morning. I haven’t seen him. Is he at the flat?”
“No, he’s not. I assumed as his child you would have known his whereabouts.”
“And I assume as his government brother you would be able to keep track of one man.” You smirked.
“You know, Sherlock never did want kids, but I can see his sarcasm is rubbing off on you. Let him know I stopped by please.”
Mycroft up and left after that statement and you sat there in shock.
Something about being told you father never wanted kids hit you, and you felt the need to prove yourself. You felt like you had to prove your worth to him.
At first it started off with staying up later to study or help with a case.
Then it was skipping meals and saying you were too busy working to do anything.
Sherlock didn’t notice the difference at first, but when he never saw you for a few days he began to worry.
“(Y/N) it’s our lunch day.” He said, walking into your room.
“Sorry dad, I’m busy with this experiment.”
He stood there, you didn’t look the same, you looked sick, tired.
“Are you eating enough? Sleeping?” He asked.
You flicked your gaze to him and went back to your paper, simply just nodding your head at him.
“Yeah dad! I’ve got food on the way right now.”
He couldn’t see any sign of you lying so he nodded and left, true to your word food did come, but you were so busy you forgot to eat it.
While Sherlock was pondering what to do, and how to approach the situation, Lestrade came running up the stairs, out of breath and in a hurry.
“We’ve got a case.”
“(Y/N) case!” Sherlock called.
“Yup!”
You came out of your room, slinging your coat over you as you made your way down the stairs.
“Is she okay?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” Sherlock mumbled, following you.
You guys got to the crime scene, and thankfully it wasn’t too far from the flat, so Sherlock could easily send you home if he needed to.
You went wondering around the place, looking for anything that didn’t belong while Sherlock met up with John and both of them went to look at the actual crime scene.
“John is there something wrong with (Y/N)?”
“I mean, aside from the fact that shes related to you?” The man chuckled.
Sherlock shot John a dirty look and instantly johns smile fell.
“Whats up with her?”
Sherlock explained everything to John while he examined the body.
“It sounds like she’s trying to prove something.” John said.
“The man was poisoned. What do you mean prove something?”
“Well, if someone’s said something, she may feel the need to prove them wrong about something. Also, it’s a really uncommon poison.”
Lestrade was trying to keep up with the conversation but he was already lost.
Sherlock and John left the room, finding you stood outside, writing stuff in a notebook.
“Oh dad, here I’ve got some-“
Before you could finished your sentace, your vision went black and your body fell. Thankfully Sherlock was right in front of you, so you simply fell against his chest.
“(Y/N)!”
Sherlock swept you up and wasted no time in running home.
He set you on your bed and looked you over, John wasn’t far behind.
“It’s nothing serious, just exhaustion taking over. Make sure she sleeps, and has something to eat and drink when she wakes up.”
Sherlock said nothing, he sat at your desk and stared to read what you were working on.
John came back, setting some paracetamol on the end of the bed before leaving.
Hours must of passed, he read through all your work, helped you on some homework, played a few games, and he was about to grab a drink when he saw you stir.
You slowly sat up, rubbing your eyes as you yawned.
You gently rubbed your head and opened your eyes, looking around.
The room was empty, but your father quickly came back in with a glass of water and held it in front of you, a sandwich in his other hand.
“Drink and take the paracetamol.”
You silently did, then went to stand but up, but you were quickly pushed back down and the sandwich was pushed in front of your face.
“Eat.”
“Dad I’m fine...” you mumbled.
“You passed you, you’ve been mistreating yourself for weeks now. Why? What are you trying to prove?”
You blinked, and opened your mouth before closing it again.
Your stomach rumbled so you took the food and started to nibble at it.
“I just wanted to make you proud...”
Sherlock sat on the end of your bed, staring out your window.
“I’m not proud of you.” He said.
Your heart shattered, and you nodded sadly, finishing your food. Then you just sat there, staring at your bedsheets.
“You’re treating yourself the way I treat myself. I’m not proud of you for that, you should be better.”
Sherlock got up, walking across the bed he sat next to you, folding his arms across his chest. You leant your head in his should and sighed.
“I’m proud of you when you look after yourself properly (Y/N).”
“I’m sorry dad...”
Sherlock said nothing at first, but then he spoke once more.
“I’m going to make sure you get your health back up, and so is John and Mrs Hudson.”
You nodded, closing your eyes as you curled up into a ball.
Sherlock looked at you briefly before he pulled out his phone, finding some things to occupy himself while he hummed a small tune under his breath.
You were quickly lulled back to sleep, quiet snores leaving you, filling the silent room.
Sherlock sent a quick message to his brother.
Sherlock: I’m going to kill you for what you made (Y/N) do.
With that, he put his phone away, resting his head on yours, he closed his eyes and drifted to sleep himself
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A Family Affair
Requested
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The first thing Mycroft noticed as he woke up was that his bed was strangely hard.
The second thing he noticed was his head was pounding.
When his eyes opened, he found himself in a grey-washed room with low lighting. Sitting up, he saw that he was in a cell in Sherrinford.
The cell that had previously held his sister.
“You’re up.”
Mycroft looked over in the corner. “Y/N?”
You said nothing, simply sitting in the corner, arms wrapped around your knees. That had always been your tell-tale sign of fear, ever since you were a child. “Where are we?”
Mycroft slowly stood, making his way over to you. “Sweetheart, are you all right?”
“Nothing’s broken if that’s what you mean.” You stared up at your father. “Where are we?” you asked once again.
Mycroft sighed, pressing a few fingers to his forehead. “We’re in Sherrinford.”
“The prison?”
“Yes.”
You took that news in stride. “Why?”
“I don’t know. But I believe I know who is behind this.”
“Who?”
Mycroft paused. He had never mentioned anything about his sister to you. The only family you knew about was Sherlock. “A very bad person.”
You rolled your eyes slightly. “No offense, Dad, but I’d worked that out already.”
Mycroft nodded. Of course, that had been a stupid response on his part. “As I was saying, the person was one of the worst, most criminally insane people we had ever run across. She remained in this cell for years and was to stay here until her timely death. She was also…” Mycroft sighed. “My sister.”
Your brow creased. “You don’t have a sister.”
Mycroft sat next to you, leaning against the wall. “Morally, you’re right. I wanted nothing to do with her. I chose to keep that part of my life a secret in order to protect… everyone. But the fact remains… she is my sister.”
You nodded. After a few moments, you said, “I don’t know what’s more shocking: waking up in a high-security jail cell or discovering that I have an aunt who resided in said jail cell.”
“We’ll get through this,” Mycroft promised.
________________________________________________________________
“There you two are.”
You and Mycroft looked up, having drifted into a small nap-like state, leaning against each other.
“Sherlock,” Mycroft said, standing up before holding a hand out to you, helping you up. “What are you doing here?”
“You neglected to call me with some sort of irritating, non-important detail about the case I just solved. I figured something was wrong.” Sherlock examined the glass wall of the cell. “How did you get stuck in here?”
“Eurus broke out. I’m unsure how, at this point, but the fact remains: she is now at large.”
Sherlock’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What would a random, pathetic criminal want with you two?”
Mycroft sighed. “She knows, Sherlock.”
“What?”
“Y/N knows about… our relation to Eurus.”
Sherlock nodded. “Very well. Then I can’t say I’m surprised she took you as victims.”
“Why didn’t she take you?” you asked.
Sherlock smiled down at you. Despite his dislike for ninety-nine percent of people, he had a soft spot for his only niece. “Because while she may be smart, I am smarter.”
“Play nice,” Mycroft warned. “Now. I need you to go up to my office and find the code to open the cell.”
“Hm. Very well. But just know that I’m not doing this for you, brother. I’m doing this for Y/N. I can’t imagine the turmoil she’s gone through, having been stuck in a cell with you.”
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zodiyack · 3 years
Text
Promises
Requested by anon: Omg hi again may I request a Sherlock Holmes x reader were they get married and have kids! Thank you <3
Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Female!Reader
Warnings: One smut-indication?, funny angst, fluffity fluff, no proof-reading
Words: 1,953
Summary: (See Request)
Note: I’m making this a continuation of Reminders if that’s ok with you-
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Taglist: @matth1w, @redspaceace-writes, @fandom-puff, @darling-i-read-it, @simonsbluee, @thewarriorprincessxo, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow, @missihart23, @beckster07890, @maan24
Masterlist | Henry Cavill Masterlist
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Tears were shed, laughs were scattered, cheers were shouted. Sherlock had made good on his promise and married the lovely beautiful artist. He couldn’t stray his eyes from hers the entire wedding. It was difficult to even form words with how breathtaking the angel in front of him looked. Did they really expect him to say vows with this gift from the heavens standing right before him?!
Although Sherlock found it hard, he managed to spit out the words that caught in his throat. You’d hardly be able to tell he was a nervous wreck; the loving words that should bind them in mere moments came from his lips like poetry.
As soon as they were wed, Sherlock was eager to have his wife to himself. The entire after-party, he sat beside her with his leg bouncing impatiently, and that night he’d made love to her more times than they’d ever done in a week. A new record. He made it known that his promise was good.
What was to come after, though, was surely to be expected.
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“Rin, stop moving sweetie.” She begged calmly for what felt like the thousandth time. Her youngest daughter fidgeted in the chair. She looked like a baby-doll propped up in an adults’ chair with how small she was. Painting her children was not uncommon for Y/n. They loved to model for their mother but most of the time her children could just barely stay still.
Their oldest, Eddie, a nickname for Edward, was goofy and had a heart like his aunt’s, both Enola and Eddie more child-like than times would prefer. Second oldest, Will Claud, short for William Claud, was determined, like his father, but had a habit of over doing it. He was the strict and ...well, the nerd brother. Will Claud just wanted to impress his father and mother, but he seemed to listen to his uncle Mycroft too much.
Next born was Alice. She had her mother’s skill in art as well as her father’s skill in mystery. She and Will Claud were born not too long from each other, so it was no surprise that they were constantly wrestling for the spotlight. Alice didn’t try to outwit her brother as much as he did her, but she wasn’t new to winning.
Finally, the twins; Clayton and Catherine. Clayton was mischievous and didn’t hesitate to make it known, but Catherine, sitting in that chair across her mother as her soft skin is replicated by paint onto a canvas of color, was practically an angel.
While the other children would hurdle over each other to get to their father every time he stepped through the front doors, Cathy would wait beside her mother politely before walking to her father slowly. Her siblings would part, forming a walkway in the middle as if she were royalty.
So then the joke was made and the chair painting was currently underway. They had to find the right chair, and they did. It looked so elegant, so royally distinguished. It looked perfect. Fit for a queen.
And that was what the joke was. That Catherine was the “queen”. Not a very funny one without context, Cathy’s siblings later found out, but a good one to tease her with. However, queen Cathy didn’t mind it. In fact, she was quick to drop into character, the smoothest transition known to man-kind. 
While, yes, Catherine’s character was rather humorous, it still held some concerns. Would she become the lordly queen her siblings tried to paint her as? Would she ever realize it was all a joke her siblings made up? Growing up was never something she forced on her children, but she didn’t want to have them growing too used to a title like that. Y/n joked to her husband one night in bed as they held the sleeping majesty, whom had crawled into their bed without reason.
“I’m highly aware she’s ‘the queen’ and all, but I really hope she doesn’t decide she’d like to adopt the complete role. I wouldn’t be able to stand it if my baby became my nightmare. The other four are already so much work.” She chuckled as she brushed some of Catherine’s hair behind her ear.
Sherlock looked at his sleeping daughter. She looked so at peace, just as she always did, and he nodded yet noted his disagreement. “I doubt she’d ever become such a hassle. She’s been so patient and kind, I can’t see her actually devolving a bad side. Clayton, sure, but his sister?” Their eyes flicked up to meet each others. A beat later and they were in hushed snickers.
“Mummy?”
“Yes?”
“When will daddy be returning home?” She had relaxed her facial muscles, if only she’d done so with her limbs- make it easier for her mother, and held a casual tone of voice. Another thing with Catherine; she was harder to read than most.
“I’m not sure, my dear. He should be back before supper...” Y/n lifted her head to peak over the easel and watch her three older kids as they played with Clayton. He was a tough kid, but always overestimated how tough he really was. Y/n felt concern fill her gut when he first begged to play with his older siblings, but she let him anyways, Sherlock being the one to thank for that decision.
“Good. I want to sit next to him tonight. And you. I want to sit next to both of you, mummy.” She gave her mother a small smile, which she returned, before adjusting to her original pose.
Y/n paused after she finished the details involving the chair and Cathy. “Catherine, you do realize that I sit next to your father at dinner, right? And Eddie sits on his other side...that is, if Willy loses their fight tonight...I wonder why they don’t just take turns...” She muttered the last few sentences to herself in heavy contemplation.
“Mhm! You can sit next to him too!” The little girl watched her mother process her question with wide eyes of anticipation. She realized Y/n still didn’t quite understand and was quick to explain. “I can sit on your lap, mummy! Like when I was this big!” Catherine held up her hands to show an overexaggerated space between her small hands that supposedly represented her only one or two years ago.
“Well... Daddy and I can talk about it when he gets home. Is that alright with you?”
“Mhm! But I don’t want to crush the new me, so don’t be afraid to tell me no, mummy, okay?!” Her innocence was adorable, but not more than the grin that sat upon her lips.
Clayton rushed in, causing Y/n to instinctively reach for her easel protectively. He chortled to himself before announcing what was on his mind. “It’s not a new you, Cathy, it’s a new me! I’ll bet you on it, I’m shore I have the funs!”
“Clayton Luther Holmes!” Y/n’s eyes doubled in size. “Who taught you about betting?”
Her son ignored her question and continued, “Besides, what if I want to sit on mother’s lap?!”
“We can’t both sit on mummy- what about the baby?”
“Uhh, it can move, no doy?! It can move just like Will Claud tells me to. It doesn’t need to be shell-fish!” Clayton muttered bitterly. “If Will Claud really wants to call someone his funny names, he should call the baby them.” His time with the older kids was undoubtfully the reasoning behind the failed attempts of words he didn’t fully understand.
“Do you mean ‘selfish?’“
“Yeah, that’s what I said. Don’t you agree, mummy? See, she agrees!” Clayton tried to argue with his twin, but his words had no effect on her. Catherine stared at him blankly, confused like her mother.
“Mummy didn’t say anything, Clayton. She said we can talk about it when daddy gets home, so you can wait here with me.” She scooted over a bit in the chair and pat beside her. Clayton shot her a look of distaste and ran back out into the yard.
“That was...odd.” Y/n blinked. 
“He did remind me though, mummy... The baby can’t move... maybe I could sit with daddy instead?” Catherine sounded reassuring, her feathery voice calming her mother.
Which she really needed. She could hardly focus on her painting now. Her heart was begging for Sherlock to walk through the front doors already, spare her from another interruption that would throw her off-course for the fifth time that evening.
Like magic, her wish was granted and a knock sounded on the study door. Both Catherine and Y/n’s heads snapped toward Sherlock entering the room. “How’s her-majesty doing?” He smirked at Cathy as he set down his case. “I heard from two little competitive detectives that mummy is creating a masterpiece of her masterpiece! Are the rumors true?”
“That they are, detective. Seems you’ve found out the surprise before it could surprise you.” Catherine giggled as her father lifted her from the soft red chair and spun her around before planting a kiss on her forehead.
“So, my little queen, how are you?”
“Good.” She smiled brightly. “How are you? Did mummy ask you yet?”
Sherlock turned to face Y/n, who looked away as fast as she could- wide eyes and all. “Did mummy ask me what, Rin?”
“If I could sit with you or her during supper? I would sit on mummy’s lap, but I don’t want to hurt the baby, and even if I could, Clay wants to sit on her too. I don’t want to make it unfair!” Catherine frowned. “I told him he could wait with me until you were here to talk about it but he didn’t want to.”
“I’ll tell you what. Since mummy has the baby, you can sit with her and I’ll have Clayton sit with me.”
“Yeah! He moves around a lot and we want to be extra careful with mummy and mini-baby, right?” Sherlock nodded, Y/n still trying to figure out what her daughter was saying, and sent Cathy off to play with her siblings until Alice finished supper. It wasn’t intended for Y/n’s pregnancy, but it certainly helped. A system in which the kids could claim nights to help out with meals. Alice loved to make dinners while Edward loved to bake. The smell of a delicious homecooked meal was never lacking in the Holmes house.
“Hear that? Mini-baby gets to sit next to the queen tonight.”
“I’m jealous, quite frankly.” Sherlock’s grin never ceased to bring Y/n’s to her face. Though she was exhausted, her husband made her feel calm and peaceful. “So, our five little reminders never cease to remind you, do they?”
“No...and don’t forget the sixth, Mr. Holmes.”
“Believe me, I haven’t, Mrs. Holmes. I’m simply awaiting their arrival. Perhaps a few more before I needn’t anymore reminders?”
“Mayhaps...however- Let’s talk about it when I’m no longer expecting, please. I’m already resisting the urge to collapse.” Sherlock chuckled to himself, shaking his head as he watched his wife struggle to the doors before helping her. His arms scoop her up and carry her to their room. They passed the paintings that hung upon the walls, portraits of Sherlock, portraits of their children, a portrait by her mother in law of their wedding day. The wall was home to their present and past, providing room for their future as well.
They were in their room for only a few minutes before a loud chatter followed them. Both adults closed their eyes and prepared themselves for their little ones who would burst through their doors at any moment. His promise was good, and they had five, almost six, reminders to show for proof.
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coco96 · 4 years
Text
LDAF - SH Parental/Familial
SHERLOCK HOLMES - PARENTAL
Not Feeling Loved (Sherlock X Daughter!Reader) Warnings: Neglect Request: … she runs away to mycrofts bc she doesn’t think Sherlock is paying any attention to her? And he and John ki da freak out cause she’s not there but they eventually find her at his brothers house.
Can’t Find Work (Sherlock X Daughter!Reader) Request: … Reader finished school but can’t find a place to work at. Shes more the creative kind of person and bad when it comes to science stuff and feels bad because of that because Sherlock had expected her to be just like him. And she feels like a failure and isn’t even motivated anymore to be creative
Binder (Sherlock Holmes X Trans!Son!Reader) Warnings: Fear of transphobia and coming out. Request: … reader is trans guy and not out yet and binding for the first time and wearing baggier clothes than usual to hide it and Sherlock easily deduces it and asks the kid about it and the kid awkwardly comes out and just father/son fluff. Thanks!
Bad Day (Sherlock X Teen!Fem!Reader) Warnings: Mention of bad/toxic family, mention of bullying Request: ... reader where she lives with them and they look after her and then one day when they’re comforting her after she gets really stressed and she accidentally calls one of them dad? …
Physical Affection (Sherlock X Teen!Reader)     |     Part 2 (Mycroft) Warnings: Mention of past kidnapping and trauma Request: … Reader is maybe 17 or 18 and lives with them because its save for her and is an touchy person who hugs them a lot? And they feel like they/he have/has a duty to care..
Pushing Limits (Sherlock X Daughter!Reader) Warnings: Drugs and use, alcohol, presumed overdose and mixing, stealing Request: … Maybe she is in her teenage years (like 15-17) and she wants to know how far she can push her dad. (Not attending school, drinking, perhaps even taking some of his drugs) …
Old Actions (Sherlock X Teen!Reader) Warnings: Mention of abusive and neglectful parents Request: ... Sherlock x TeenReader in which they were used to taking care of their abusive parents since they were a child so they're making it a habit to fuss over Sherlock and John as well and Sherlock realizes that and shows them that he’s now the one to take care of them
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SHERLOCK HOLMES - FAMILIAL
Youngest Sister Found (Holmes Brothers X Sister!Reader) Request: ... reader being the youngest Holmes daughter, who was given up for adoption so her brothers don’t know her when they meet her as a grown police officer. She looks up and respects Mycroft instantly upon meeting him. They develop a strong friendship more like sibling amd Mycroft mentors her skills. Until one day he comes across the truth…
Like Her (Sherlock & Mycroft X Sister!Reader) Warnings: Fear of rejection Request: … y/n being the youngest sister of the Holmes they knew nothing about? They find out snd Mycroft is a bit creeped out because y/n shows skills like Euros so he is afraid she is also a psychopath. Y/n on the other hand craves being accepted by Mycroft because she looks up to him and loves her brothers dearly. But she also is aware of the fact that Mycroft sees Euros in her, which hurts.
I Believe She’s My Sister (Sherlock X Sister!Reader) Warnings: Mention of murder and dead body Request: ... y/n (physics student and very observant) is the long lost sister of Mycroft and Sherlock. She just found out that she is related to the two men she always admired (Sherlock fan and due to that she also gained knowledge on who Mycroft is), and is terrified of them not accepting her ...
The Dress (Sherlock X Sister!Reader X Mycroft) Request: … you have to go dress shopping for a school dance or something and big brother! Sherlock and uncle!John are there being all conservative about what you wear (ie no sleeveless dresses etc) and then you call Mycroft who has always let you get away with anything and get him to get sherlock and John to get the dress for you? Maybe he shows up even to buy it personally?
Uncle Locky (Sherlock X Niece!Reader) Request: … one shot where the reader is Mycroft’s infant daughter and is being babysat by Sherlock and there is just a whole lot of fluff. Thanks!!
Favourite Big Brother! (Sherlock X Baby Brother!Reader) Warnings: Bit of blood, upset toddles Request: … The MR is 2-3 years old, really shy, almost deaf (he needs hearing-aids) and he cant walk properly on his own (like he have to be carried). Mycroft left the MR is Sherlocks care for the weekend (John helps him too) but Sherlock kind of upsets him and he cries non-stop and nothing works at some point he injured himself and then fluff! …
Dear Sweet Sibling (Holmes Brothers X Sibling!Reader) Warnings: Violence/fighting Request: The reader is a sibling of the sherlock brothers and they think the reader wouldn’t hurt a fly. That’s until the brothers walk in to the apartment seeing the reader killing the 5 assassins ... The reader reveals that they work for an Elite Task Force in M.I.5 ... Not only that but the r reveals that they can deduce for their whole live but was playing dumb. They go on to do a fast deduction to prove it. The r goes on to tell how their cases are intertwined.
Sibling Hatred (Holmes Brothers X Sister!Reader) Warnings: Mention of bomb Request: ... Like R can be estranged sibling and all three siblings hate her for some reason or other. She is an Avenger or Shield agent. But then something happens and only she comes to their aid. And after she helps she doesn’t take credit and so is accused, so later when they realize they feel guilty or sad.
Unknowing Pawn (Moriarty X Holmes!Reader) Warnings: Mild violence Request: ... reader is the youngest holmes but like super naive and being a ball of sunshine and when moriety start hitting on reader sherlock any mycroft being the protective brothers ...
Dangerous Stunts (Mycroft & Sherlock X Sister!Reader) Warnings: Guns, mention of shooting, mention of fighting and death, mention of dangerous acts Request: ... reader is looking up to both her brothers and always meddled in Sherlock’s cases. Though Mycroft is very worried to his youngest sister daredevil nature. Even though she often seems calm she can be a volcano.
Making Amends (Sherlock & Mycroft X Sister!Reader) Warnings: Sickness, hospitals, mention of surgery and blood tests Request: ... reader and Holmes brother DON’T get along and the R is married to John Watson. The r gets diagnosed to Kidney failure and needs transplant, either the Holmes brother got match. The Holmes brothers we’re worried at her and they wanted to make amend. Before the surgery they reconciled to reader and the reader forgive them.
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grace-writes-shit · 4 years
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The Time I Wasted (Sherlock Holmes x Daughter!Reader)
Request:  Heyo great writer can you do Sherlock X daughter reader. Angsty please prompt 99 and 95 thank you
Words: 1529
Warnings: Angst. Character death. Blood. Wound infection. Gore. Detached father. Parent death. Torture. Basically an angst salad. Curse words.
Characters/Pairings: Sherlock x daughter!reader, John, Mary, Mycroft, Moriarty.
A/N: I started writing this, hated it. Deleted it. Rewrote it. And died. Enjoy.
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A sigh was heard from the kitchen. Followed by a mumbled curse. Another one. Another goddammed head.
“Dad!” A young woman’s voice called. “Dad!” She called again when there was no answer. He was most likely deep in his mind palace again. She groaned.
What was she supposed to do with the head dripping a mysterious clear goo all over their food? He wouldn’t be happy if she got rid of it, but now she can’t even prepare dinner.
Looking over to the man perched in his chair, she tapped her foot with her hands on her hips. “Dad, do you want take-out?” She knew it was a long shot in asking but sometimes it was nice to imagine that he would actually reply.
You see, despite the great detective, Sherlock Holmes, being her father, she did not share the same intelligence as him. Yes, she was smart, enough to breeze through school, but not enough to gain the attention of her father. He often ignored her or treated as he did everyone else. Like an idiot.
Fed up with the silence and the fucking head, she stormed from the kitchen to the door, barely grabbing her coat.
“I’m going to Uncle John’s.” She threw over her shoulder, not really looking at the man. It’s not like he cared anyway. Nobody really did. Maybe John and Mary, but they were too wrapped up in their own lives and she didn’t want to bother them.
This is why as she left the flat, she didn’t hail a cab to her Uncle’s home. Instead, she took a left, hands buried deep in her pockets and headed nowhere. She was never wanted here anyway.
Her father had an uncharacteristic, drunken tryst with her mother twenty-one years ago. He had been on a case apparently that involved a serial lover/murder. Guess he was just putting himself in the killer’s shoes. But nine months later, after he was long gone, little (Y/N) was born. Everything was great, though. Her mother poured everything she had into raising her. She was her best friend. Her confidant. Then it was all stripped away.
When she was twelve, her mother died in a plane crash. She had been on a two-week business trip and was finally coming home. But rather than her loving mother opening the door, it was a woman from social services, coming to take her to her father.
For another ten years, she would live as a ghost in this strange man’s home. Wanting nothing more than to have a loving parent to replace the one she had lost.
She didn’t know how long she walked. It must have been hours because the sky had gone dark a long time ago. But she had no intention of going back yet. Maybe not ever. Nothing in that flat really mattered.
Having a feeling that something was amiss, she looked up. A black car had pulled up next to her. She rolled her eyes. Of course, Mycroft sent a car. This happened every time she was gone for too long. As if she were a prisoner.
Walking up to the car she opened the door and looked at the woman sitting in the seat. It wasn’t Anthea, but an equally beautiful woman.
“Can’t Mycroft just leave me alone?” She asked, getting in the car anyway. The woman looked up from her phone and smiled. The doors locked. And the woman pulled out a cloth. Too late did (Y/N) realize this wasn’t Mycroft’s doing.
Everything went black as the cloth was pressed to her face.
“(Y/N), what did you do with my skull?” That girl, always moving things around. ‘Cleaning’, as she called it. He shook his head, digging around the flat for the cranium. “(Y/N)!” He looked up to the kitchen where she just was. No, it’s dark now. Oh, she must have left a while ago.
“Probably to John’s. No, not John’s. She didn’t take her purse… Another one of her fits then. Mycroft’s people should be bringing her back then.” Unconcerned now, he sat back down and once again entered his mind palace. Unaware of where his daughter really was.
><
“Ugh, my head. I feel like I was hit by a truck.” (Y/N) moaned as she tried to lift her head. It was cold. And the ground was hard. Concrete. The chill had already settled in her bones, causing her to shiver violently.
“Ahhh, the little mouse is awake~” A sweet Irish voice came from the dark doorway. She already knew who it was.
She squeezed her eyes shut as the bright florescent lights flicked on. It set her head on fire. Her body ached. She doesn’t remember anything past getting in the car, but from the still bleeding scrapes on her elbows and knees, she wasn’t put in this room nicely. She must have hit her head as well if the wet feeling on the side of her head suggested anything.
“Aw, not even a hello, darling? No matter, you won’t be saying much soon.” He smiled softly, chewing his gum. She sent him the most hate-filled glare she could muster.
“Fuck you, prick.” She bit out.
He gave a short, barking laugh, feigning shock and offense. He held a hand to his chest and scoffed. “My dear, those are some pretty colorful wonder from someone so young. What would your father say?”
“He’s not my father!”
“No? Then I suppose he won’t care about all the fun we’re going to have.”
 ><
“What do you mean she hasn’t been here? She lives here.” John watched Sherlock pace.
“I mean, she hasn’t been here, John! She left and hasn’t come back,” Sherlock snapped.
“How long has she been gone?” Mary asked from her position on John’s old chair.
“Three days.”
“Three days, Sherlock?!” John dragged a hand through his hair, letting it scrub back down his face. Mary buried her face in her hands.
“Darling, I don’t think she’s coming back,” Mary said softly. Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks.
“What, why? Why wouldn’t she come back? All of her stuff is here. She even left her idiotic stuffed cat. She never would leave that, it holds sentiment. And we all know how she adores her sentiment.” He was rambling now.
“Look, whether or not she wants to come back, we need to find her. She could be in trouble,” John rationalized.
At that moment a knock sounded at the door. The three occupants turned to see the newcomer.
“Mycroft,” Sherlock addressed his brother.
“Brother mine,” The older man greeted. Reaching into his suit, he produced an envelope. “A letter for you.”
Sherlock wasted no time in striding across the room and nearly ripping the letter from his brother’s hands. One simple sentence was written on the paper. And it was all he needed.
Let’s play Hide and Seek.
 ><
If she thought she was in pain before, this was agony. It was hellfire in her bones. Her wounds had stopped bleeding a while ago, but because of the poor conditions of the room and her weakened body, infection settled in quickly. She sat in her own vomit and blood, the pain making her nauseous.
She just wanted to die. It would have been better if he had just killed her outright. But where’s the fun in that? Her throat was raw from screaming and vomiting. Her fingernails were bloody and torn from digging into the wooden chair she sat on.
All of this. All of this because she was related to Sherlock Holmes.
She hates him.
Suddenly, hands were on her. But after three days of torture, and another two of festering in her own sick, she couldn’t react.
“(Y/N). (Y/N), look at me.” A voice called. “Just hold on.” A gurgle was his reply. “Shh, don’t try to talk.”
“D-dad?” Was that her voice? It was unrecognizable. It was weird, talking instead of screaming.
“I said don’t talk.” Sherlock scolded, lowering her to the floor. The coolness of the floor helped clear her fogged mind.
“Just leave me, it’s over.”
He scoffed, shaking his head, “You just don’t listen, do you?”
“I got it from you.” She coughed out a laugh, it hurt. But not physically. How ironic. To finally have a conversation with her father and she’s dying. She knows she is. She was too numb to not be.
“We just need to wait for John. We’ll get you to the hospital. I can save you.”
“No, you can’t. It’s too late…” He knows. But he doesn’t want her to be scared.
“This looks infected.” The wound on her side oozed and practically bubbled with infection.
“It’s fine.” Really, it was. She couldn’t even feel anything anymore. Darkness was creeping at the edges of her vision. Her father’s face nothing but a blur.
“…You’re dying.” He said this more to himself than her. Ten years wasted. He had this precious girl next to him this entire time and it took her dying in front of him for Sherlock to realize it. The guilt was unbearable. But probably not as unbearable as what he put her through.
“Well… that’s fine too.”
Darkness consumed her.
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thebeethathums · 5 years
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Expectant Moments 5/6
John Watson x Pregnant!Reader
Notes: Transfering my old fics from 2013 to here!
As always if you can’t find the next chapter message me or check out my DeviantArt or Archive of Our Own under the same username.
Upon reaching the hospital you were bustled off into a room with what seemed like a dizzying amount of nurses and machines, you were taking deep breaths trying to keep yourself calm when you realized you were alone. And by alone you meant that the one person who actually mattered wasn’t by your side- John. You breathing picked up and the heart monitor that you’d been plugged into started to beep impossibly fast, causing the nurses to come to your side to try and calm you. You just kept repeating the same question, “Where’s John?” John had been distracted by a nurse who’d shoved some paperwork in his hands, demanding he finish it in the waiting room before heading back to you. His leg jumped nervously as he quickly tried to fill out the blanks on the form, when a nurse emerged and called, “Is there a John out here?” He shot up, “That’s me. Is something wrong?” 
The nurse impatiently gestured for him to follow, “Your wife is panicking and none of us can seem to calm her down. It’s stressing the baby.” 
He didn’t bother to correct her assumption that he was your husband, practically throwing himself through the door just as you hit the point of being on the verge of tears. You reached for him shakily and he enveloped you in a tight hug, “It’s alright. I’m here. Just breathe.” You buried yourself into his shoulder, taking comfort in his familiar scent, and after a moment your heart rate dropped back to normal, the beeping slowing down considerably. A nurse pried him gently off you and reminded him he needed to finish the forms. He sighed and leaned in to kiss your forehead, “(F/n) I have to finish with these forms and then I will be back. I promise.“ You nodded and watched forlornly as he left the room. He entered the waiting room to find the Holmes brothers arguing loudly with the woman at the check-in desk, Sherlock yelling, “It’s Holmes! With an H. Really? Could you be any more daft?” “If you do not locate my sister within the next five minutes, I will personally see to it that you and your entire family are exiled from all of England for the rest of time.” Followed up Mycroft in that calm yet extremely threatening way he had. John went to rescue the poor girl, “Would the two of you stop harassing the staff? (F/n) is just down the hall.” They spun in sync to look at him and Sherlock demanded, “Why aren’t you with her?” He held up his clipboard, “They are insisting I fill these out first. Go back and be with her. She needs you. I’ll be along as soon as I’ve finished.” The brothers swooped off to find you and John felt relief wash over him, knowing that now you wouldn’t be alone. The feeling was short lived when a nurse pulled him from his paperwork again. Not even bothering to explain, she just grabbed his wrist and dragged him off to your room. In the room, Mycroft was trying in vain to calm you as you sobbed, your heart rate dangerously high, and Sherlock didn’t seem to be able to stop talking. He was spouting facts about the dangers of childbirth and some other nonsense while waving his hands and pacing in his own form of complete and total panic mixed with fear. John’s military training kicked in as he moved to quickly neutralize the situation, he grabbed Sherlock by the front of his coat and shoved him out the door, shutting it behind him, and then turned his attention to you. Mycroft backed away as he strode over and in one swift motion, lifted you and placed you in his lap on the edge of the hospital bed. You clung to him, arms around his neck and nose buried in his shoulder, and he rocked you soothingly, rubbing calming little circles into your back, “You’re going to be just fine. The baby is going to be just fine. I’ll make sure of it.” “But-“ “But nothing. I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you.” The tears stopped coming and you started taking slow deep breaths then, after a moment, you suddenly pulled away, “I think I’m alright now. Thank you, John.” He pressed his forehead against yours. “I know you don’t like hospitals and that you’re scared but I promise it’s going to be alright. You just need to stay calm ok?” You nodded and John set you back on the bed, you wiped your eyes and stared at the bed sheets, embarrassed you’d allowed yourself to get so caught up in everything. John frowned, “I have to take care of one thing and then I’ll be right back.” You grabbed his hand, not wanting him to go again, but he shook his head, “It will only take a minute. Look. Mycroft is right here. He’ll keep an eye on you while I’m gone.” He looked up expectantly at the man and Mycroft, wrapping your hand in his, evenly added, “I’m right here Kheiland dear. I’m sure John will only be a minute.” You hesitantly let go of John, giving him the opportunity to push through the doors and out into the hall to look for Sherlock. He found the consulting detective pacing a little ways away, mumbling to himself about god knows what, certainly nothing good. 
John roughly shoved him up against the wall, “Get a hold of yourself you, bloody idiot. You terrified your own sister so badly it brought her to tears. You are going to go back out the waiting room and stay there until you feel- no- until you know, with absolute certainty, that you can remain calm. Until then you can make yourself useful and finish filling out these forms.” John released him, shoved the clipboard he’d grabbed on his way out of the room into Sherlock’s chest, and then watched the tall man stride off before returning to your side. The nurses quickly found that you could handle anything they threw at you with ease as long as John was by your side and none of them dared to remove again him for any reason. Things moved fairly smoothly after that and it wasn’t long before things got heated enough that you had to kick Mycroft out to keep Sherlock company in the waiting room. You all but crushed John’s hand as you tossed your head back, screaming, and the doctor told you “Just one more push.” You slumped back into the bed, exhausted and sweating, and you felt John sandwich your hand between both of his, “Come on (F/n). You can do this. Just one more.” You huffed determinedly and put whatever energy you had left into one final successful push, hearing the doctor announce, “It’s a girl,” before you collapsed into the pillows. Everything seemed a blur for a moment and suddenly you were staring into a set of eyes that were eerily similar to your own. You brought your nose down to lightly touch it to your tiny daughter’s, smiling a tired but content smile, “Hello there little one, nice of you to finally join us out here in the world.”   You felt a hand on your head and yawned as you tilted to look up at its owner. John looked unsure for the first time that day but you didn’t give him a chance to overthink, gently placing the small pink bundle into his arms. The little child cooed slightly, grabbing the front of his jumper and pulling him down to her with a slight tug. He grinned, tears brimming up in his eyes, and let out a soft chuckle at how she was already tugging him around just like you did. She was a carbon copy of you in everything except her hair, which was a smooth blond like her father’s. John didn’t seem to hear when the doctor asked for a name, so you sleepily responded, “Emily. Emily Rose Holmes-Watson.” John startled slightly at the mention of his last name, looking up at you with confusion in his eyes, “What was that?” You yawned, “Her name. Emily Rose Holmes-Watson.” He grinned, looking between you and your daughter, “It’s perfect. Even with the hyphenation.” You chuckled, mumbling, “Just don’t let Sherlock or Mycroft in here until I’ve had a chance to…” John looked up to find you had drifted off to sleep mid-sentence and returned his attention to the little girl in his arms, “Well Emily, you’re just going to have to wait to meet your uncles until your mother’s had a proper rest. No matter, I’d rather keep you all to myself for just a bit longer anyway.” The infant yawned and began to doze with her hand still firmly grasping the front of his jumper and John felt on top of the world.
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sherlockxreader · 7 years
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All This Time
Title: All This Time Summary: When Mycroft’s daughter can’t cope with his unbearable behaviour anymore, she decides to make him and everyone believe she’s dead. She goes, after six years, to live with her uncle Sherlock, trying to keep it from Mycroft and to start a new life back in London. But a new case calls for Sherlock’s help, and Mycroft himself is bringing the news to 221B... Author: Niky (@waiting-for-orchestra​) Words: 2013 (hehe) Characters/Relationships: Mycroft x daughter!reader, Sherlock x platonic!reader, John x platonic!reader Warnings: some cursing, ANGST, character (fake) death
Request: Could u do a one shot where the reader is mycrofts daughter and he thinks she died years ago but in reality she faked her death because her and her father hated each other and she couldn’t stand being around him, Sherlock her uncle (who is more of a father figure to her) also thought she was dead up until about a year ago when she came to live with him and they are hiding it from Mycroft but he eventually finds out?????? – anonymous
A/N: I fell in love with this request!! This is how I’m introducing myself as the new writer in the team, and also a suggestion to the readers: listen to Tchaikovsky while reading this! I was listening to his music while writing, sooo... Hope you like it, and special thanks to the anon who requested this!
“Daddy! Daddy, look at this! Look, I made it for you! You received a lot of phone calls today and were always saying thank you, I thought it were a special day. Do you like it?” shouted little Y/N, a messy muffin in her chocolate-stained hands. “I’m busy for these things, Y/N. If you had paid more attention, you would have noticed I ended every phone call in five seconds.” “Is it your birthday, Daddy?” “Get out, please.” Mycroft’s tone was cold but calm. “At least tell me how it tastes-” “Get the hell out!” Mycroft shouted, looking only for a second at the little kid running out of his office and going back to his paperwork.
“Uhm... dad?” murmured eleven-year-old Y/N while opening her father’s office door. Her high voice was joyful and she wore a little smile on her face. “Yes, dear, what do you want?” Mycroft didn’t look up from his work. “I’m eleven now. Will I get to go to Hogwarts?” “Y/N please, you’ve grown up and your intelligence is far beyond believing in this sort of things.” Y/N’s smile faded and she closed the door behind her back, sighing sadly.
“I can’t take this anymore, I can’t live like this!” shouted fourteen-year-old Y/N at her father. She bumped a fist on the table they were sitting at, then stood furiously and walked to the balcony. She nodded slightly, looking at the street. “I’m done. I never want to see you again.” Y/N ran away from the hall, leaving Mycroft, who was shouting her name, behind; leaving everything behind. She climbed to the roof, where Mycroft instantly followed, then reached the edge and looked down, nodding again, her eyes empty, the warm summer sun hitting the back of her neck. “Y/N, what the hell are you doing? Come here, now!” She turned to face him. “You can’t tell me what to do.” And she disappeared, to be never seen again.
That had been a long time prior, thought Sherlock, the memory of his niece still vivid in his mind palace. Every moment they had spent together, he sort of missed it, no matter how much he claimed not to have feelings.
She had always seen him as a father way more than Mycroft, and he had raised her like he would have raised a daughter of his; and her fate, her end, was another reason for which he hated his brother with all his might. He wished everyday he had just had the possibility to say goodbye; she had decided to jump in a split second, when she couldn’t keep it all inside anymore.
No one knew she ever even existed except for the people in the family: she was born and died in silence, and it hurt Sherlock way more than a punch or a blade. He just wished he could have hugged her one last time. When he was lost thinking in his mind palace, the image of that little girl suddenly appeared. It had scarred him and had broken almost all his connections with Mycroft. And that was another of those times; Y/N Holmes, rest in peace.
But a knock on the door waked him from his thoughts, and he instantly assumed it was John; that is, if John hadn’t been at home already, since morning even. “Sherlock, aren’t you going to open the door?” The doctor’s voice emerged from the kitchen in fact, slightly annoyed. He sighed, then said: “I’ll go then.”
As the door opened, a puzzled expression made its way on John’s face. In front of him was a – particularly attractive – young woman, with Y/H/L, Y/H/C hair framing her gentle features, and a pair of big Y/E/C eyes. Admiring her, he forgot they were still standing in the doorway.
“I’m sorry,” the woman spoke, “Does Sherlock Holmes live here? I’ve found the door open, I didn’t mean to look like an intruder in any way.”
“Yes, yes, he does.” John said, clearing his throat. “He’s... getting ready.” He added as he looked at Sherlock, who was lying on the sofa, and sent a death glare his way that forced the detective to run to his room to get dressed.
John let the woman in and closed the door, making her sit in the client’s chair as usual. Sherlock reappeared seconds later from the bedroom, and as he saw the young woman sitting in his living room, he couldn’t help but notice her familiar features. “Good... afternoon.” Sherlock murmured, busy trying to deduce her. John tried to refrain from laughing at the detective’s expression.
“No need for formalities, we’re family. Oh, right. You don’t know.” She bit her lip.
“What do you mean you’re family? Am I missing on something?” John asked, his questions ignored.
“Y/N...?” Sherlock was startled. “Y/N, I can’t believe it!”
“Sherlock, who is...?”
The detective looked much more... human, when he hugged the woman named Y/N. But who she was, John still couldn’t understand. “Sorry, you must be John Watson. I’m Y/N Holmes, his niece.” Y/N said, looking towards John and noticing his confusion. She then looked him over, deducing just like Sherlock, "Did you get married?” She then turned to Sherlock, “Did he get married? Last time I checked he had not.”
John’s expression darkened at the thought of Mary. 
“Yes, he got married and he has a daughter. Please don’t talk about this ever again.” The detective hurried. Y/N nodded.
“Anyway, how are you alive? And why didn’t you tell me? It’s been six years, six years, for God’s sake! Why couldn’t I hear a word from you? And you were complaining about my two years, John. She faked her death for three times that; in our family we can always do worst than we actually do.”
“It’s a long story... I couldn’t bear the thought of living with that asshole of father I have and I couldn’t think of a better solution. I studied the place anyway, from afar of course. I lived in Switzerland until now, no one ever checks Switzerland.”
John continued looking from Y/N to Sherlock, and from Sherlock to Y/N. Sherlock noticed immediately and rolled his eyes. “John, is it more surprising that my niece is alive or that Mycroft actually has a daughter? Why are you looking at us like that?”
“I didn’t think...” he started, then stopped in his tracks. “Never mind. I’m going out, I’ll ring Mrs. Hudson.” As John closed the door, Sherlock sighed in relief.
“Now, explain.”
“It was me and a guy I knew, we’d been friends for as long as I can remember but of course Mycroft never knew. I told him everything about how my father was being annoying and all and when I told him I wanted to fake my death he stepped right in to help. Good guy, really, with a passion for criminals and crimes, like you. He set it all up, I just had to jump. 
“He assured me it would have been alright, Mycroft never saw the body because he never dared to look down, and in fact, it wasn’t even there. We didn’t bother because I knew he wouldn’t have had the courage to look, even from up there. This guy stayed by my side in Switzerland, I knew Mycroft would have been drowning in sentiments and he wouldn’t have deduced anything, no matter his wit. I kept an eye on him, and on you, and John Watson too, but I lost track after some time because I was planning my return to London. I thought living with you would have been the best option, but my friend is staying nearby of course, just in case things turn bad.”
Sherlock listened with a certain sparkle of pride in his eyes. He knew she had done something terrible but couldn’t help but feel so proud of her, being able to do this much with only one person by her side. She had fooled Mycroft Holmes. “So basically this is it. Do you have an extra room?” Y/N added with a smile.
“You can stay in mine. The other is John’s.” Y/N nodded, then glanced to the door.
“I’ll bring my things in then.”
Living with uncle Sherlock wasn’t easy for Y/N. He could stay up until unholy hours at night, or wake at unholy hours in the morning. He always brought in clients, and she had to lock herself in the bedroom during those times. She kept care of the dusty flat, did the shopping, and spent her free time playing her uncle’s violin. 
She remembered clearly the days when she was six, when he used to teach her. She had learned pretty well too, and had continued to practice during the years in Switzerland. The violin smelled a lot like happiness and so little like Mycroft, it made her feel calm and it was the only real way she could relax.
All in all, life in 221B had been going on quite well for Y/N, until one rainy day in November in which she heard loud knocks on the door. Sherlock and John were both out investigating a crime scene and she couldn’t receive clients, so she let Mrs. Hudson open the door. But after hearing her voice saying that Sherlock wasn’t home, she heard loud footsteps coming towards the flat anyway.
“Maybe it’s Lestrade”, she thought, but it couldn’t be: he was with the boys at the crime scene. Who else could have...
Then it hit her, finally, and she cursed herself for not realising earlier. She tried to hurry to the bedroom and hide, but it was already too late. Mycroft stormed inside when she was just crossing the kitchen, and she froze there, her back towards the living room. 
“Who’s... Who are you?” Mycroft asked, noticing her presence.
“Oh, I am... Sherlock’s... girlfriend.” she answered without turning around.
“Oh, he’s always been the sentimental one.” 
“And you’ve always been the annoying one.”
“Excuse me?” 
“You heard me.” Mycroft moved closer to her and grabbed her arm, to turn her around. When he finally saw her face, he recognised those familiar features. It was unbelievable, but it couldn’t be anyone but her, his daughter. His dead daughter. 
“Y/N...”
“You started it. You could have just not cared. Like you always did. You could have just ended it there, left those papers on the desk and left.”
“Six years... all this time... you were alive, you were fucking alive and you didn’t tell me? For God’s sake Y/N, I am your father!”
“My father and the reason I faked my death. I couldn’t just die. Hell, I was fourteen, I had a life ahead of me, I wouldn’t have thrown it all away for you. Sherlock’s the sentimental one, huh? But look at you, couldn’t stand to look down at my dead body, couldn’t come to my funeral, all because sentiments were blocking you, scaring you, because you’re a coward.” Y/N’s voice became a threatening whisper at the end, and Mycroft was frozen by the truth held in her words.
“I know I’ve been a terrible father but my work...”
“You’ve been an ass.”
“Y/N, if you don’t stop this right now I...”
“You what? I’m not a little girl anymore.” Mycroft’s expression softened, but the tension could be cut with a knife. Y/N’s gentle face was contorted into a disgusted expression, and Mycroft’s fingers around her arm were only making her more annoyed. She felt his hold loosen, and shook her arm away. Her father’s eyes, sweeter, met hers, full of rage.
“Y/N, you know, no matter how I acted, I always loved you. Your suicide – fake, as it turns out – was a main thought of mine during these years. It killed me too. I always, always regretted not being a better father to you, really.”
“No. Sorry. I’m really, really sorry. It doesn’t work with me. You are not my father and you never were.” And with those words, she stormed to the bedroom, locking the door behind her – forever.
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Text
Far From A Goldfish (Mycroft X Teen!Daughter!Reader)
Characters: Mycroft X Teen!Daughter!Reader Sherlock X Niece!Reader
Universe: Sherlock
Warnings: Near death expierience, mild conversation about sex
Request: Mycroft X TeenDaughter!Reader, pretty please where? where Mycroft thinks his daughter is a trouble maker goldfish, but he finds out she's actually a bored genius just like Sherlock, but with a inteligence level that compares to his? Like, her grades are low and she always ships classes, bcs school is boring, and she learned everything there is to be learned. Maybe she could have his ability to learn languages in hours, and thinks everybody in the school is a goldfish.
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The busy streets of London was something that always kept your mind busy, having to avoid traffic, avoid people not paying attention, wandering children and cyclists, and keeping an eye out for any trouble was something that kept the cogs turning in the background, giving your mind something to do as you also worked your brain on the best way to get to your uncle’s flat, and also working on a new excuse to try on your dad for why you decided to walk out of school before lunch. The truth was that it was boring, but you’d used that long ago and it didn’t work, so now it was a game of lies to see what stuck. You considered at this point using it to wind him up, and telling him it was to meet a stranger you’ve befriended on the internet. 
After crossing the street and finding yourself in front of the set of flats, the door opened abruptly, and you grinned at the sight of your uncle, who grinned back. “You should be in school.” He commented. 
“I would be, but they wanted us to dissect frogs. Got anything more interesting?” You asked him.
“Not right now, but how about some work experience? I could use a second pair of hands.” Sherlock suggested. 
“Sounds good!” You immediately agreed, offering a hand to your uncle, who took it and you both made you way down the road, waving down a cab and climbing inside. “How long till you think my school figures out I’m missing?” You asked him, pulling your phone out, checking for any notifications, before turning off your phone. 
“At least two hours, and then your father will come to the flat to find you, but we won’t be there, so I’m giving us 3 hours minimum.” Sherlock hypothesised. 
“Plenty of time then.” You joked with him, sitting back in your seat. 
You’d always felt more comfortable in your uncle’s presence than your father’s. You two just clicked, he understood you in a way your dad just didn’t seem to be able to. While your dad wanted you to go to school and learn there, Sherlock had picked up early on that you were curious, and you wanted to learn more, and in the rare times he was able to babysit you growing up, he exposed you to as much as he could cram into a few hours, and as you got older and able to ask to spend time with him, you did so as often as you could, knowing he could satisfy your need for knowledge, and by the time you were 13, he had taught you everything that you were now learning in school and more. The only issue with that is now you are utterly bored with school, and can’t be bothered to try. 
“Have you tried talking to Mycroft about finishing school early?” Sherlock brought up right on time. You looked over at him with a bored expression. 
“Yes. He immediately said no.” You told him. 
“Why not?” Sherlock asked. 
“Cause according to him, I’m not smart enough.” You rolled your eyes, turning your head to look out the window. You heard your uncle move in his seat to turn more towards you. 
“He said what?” 
“I’m not smart enough. Well, that’s what it says on my report cards. I’m failing all my classes, and all my teachers hate me because I don’t try in their classes and skip them most of the time. It’s just so… boring. I know it all, I know all the answers, and I feel like I’m being punished for it…” You explained, turning to look at your uncle, his eyebrows pressed together in frustration and mild anger. “But hey, I can’t wait to laugh in their face when I ace all my tests and prove I’m not a Goldfish.” You told him, immediately making him relax and laugh. 
You soon arrived at the scene, following closely behind Sherlock as you entered the Gallery that had been shut off to the public As you reached the tape, Sherlock lifted it to go under, then held it up for you to go under as well, walking with you, an arm hovering behind you to keep you close as he leant over to you. “Notice anything odd?” He asked. He watched as your eyes lit up, examining your surroundings, looking at all the paintings and sculptures in the room, before your eyes landed on something, and your speed picked up. 
“That’s a fake!” You called out, rushing to the barrier of a sculpture. “Look, the bowl of fruit it’s carrying- the authentic has apples to represent the garden of Eden as it’s meant to secretly hint she’s a demon trying to tempt people into sin by offering apples, but this one has peaches! They look similar since it’s marble, but if you look close enough you can see the shape is wrong.” You explained, pointing to it, squinting as you examined the sculpture for any other flaws. “The parting of the hair is wrong as well… it should be more uneven, sort of messy, but it’s neat… the sculpture’s been made to mock the original artist- they’ve made this to be about sex, not religion.” 
“Y/N?” 
“The Artist has a known history of being very conservative and showing it in his work, this work is clearly meant to infuriate and insult him- but the real question is, where’s the original?” You asked, turning to Sherlock, who was stood a few steps back, smiling rather proudly at you. 
“Where do you think it would be? What sort of circumstances?” He asked you. You looked back at the sculpture for a moment, before looking back at Sherlock. 
“Probably somewhere where the Artist will see it, and it’s probably been defaced or damaged- but I don’t think it’s been destroyed. Spraypainted, chipped away at… I wouldn’t rule it out that it would be decapitated… but I think the person who’s done this wants to make a point directly to the Artist… possibly to threaten him… where does the Artist live?” You inquired. 
“An upstate flat deep in London.” You turned at the voice, and your heart dropped at the sight of your father, stood staring at you. You realised that you had actually heard him call your name earlier during your ramblings, but you’d ignored him, being too in the moment to care about any interruptions. You stared at him for a moment. 
“...What’s opposite his flat?” You asked him. 
“Another building, what does that matter?” He asked. You turned to Sherlock, who was grinning. 
“Is there a ledge you could hang a sculpture on?” You asked. 
“Let’s go find out. You coming along, Mycroft?” 
Turns out, as expected, you were right. The statue was being hung by the neck by a collection of chains and rope, facing the window of the Artist who was now ranting or raving on the street up at the men trying to bring the statue down in one piece. On your left was your uncle, and on your right, was your dad, all three of you looking up at the statue. “Good job Y/N, solved it all by yourself.” Sherlock commented, and you nudged him. 
“I know you figured it out first and just let me do it to feel special.” You joked with him. 
“That doesn’t excuse you skipping school, young lady.” Mycroft reprimanded you, and you ruled your eyes. 
“You know, Mycroft, if you got your head out your arse and actually spent some time with your daughter, you’d realise she’s a genius.” Sherlock commented. 
“Don’t start, Sherlock, she’s failing school.” 
“Because I know it all!” You huffed. “Give me my GSCE’s right now, I’ll pass just fine because I know it all! It’s hard to focus in class when you have a person drilling on about something you already know, and even know better than them.” You complained, crossing your arms, and looking back at the scene, and as you looked at it, you realised something. “Um… Dad?” 
“I suspect you have something to do with that, Sherlock?” Mycroft asked. 
“Of course I do, she wanted to learn something new, so I taught her it. She has a brilliant brain, and you should be nurturing it, instead you’re holding her back.” Sherlock pointed out. 
“Uncle Sherlock?” 
“That doesn’t give her excuse to flunk school and disrespect her teachers!” Mycroft continued to bicker, and you rolled your eyes, and decided to take action yourself, walking forward quickly. “Wait- Y/N, where are you going!?” 
You walked towards the Artist, grabbing his arm and started pulling him towards his apartment complex  “What are you doing, little girl?” He asked. 
“Sorry sir, but considering that this was clearly an attempt to intimidate and threaten you, it’s pretty stupid of you to just stand in the middle of the street-” You were telling him, as a crash was heard, and you flinched as the sound was right where you were standing, and as you and the man looked at where you once stood, you saw the large block of marble, or what was left of it, as it was now in several pieces. “As I said… stupid.” 
“Y/N!” You looked over as your dad and uncle came rushing towards you, your dad surprisingly reaching you first, pulling you into a hug. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?” He asked, checking you over for any injuries. 
“She’s fine Mycroft- but you know who wouldn’t be without her deducing that he was in danger?” Sherlock pointed out, making a point to both the Artist and your father. “I highly suggest you go back to your room and call for some sort of security until we can catch him.” Sherlock told the man, who silently nodded and walked into his complex. Sherlock looked at you. “I didn’t predict that. He would have died if it wasn’t for you, Y/N. But I think you understand that it’ll be safer for you to be off this case for now.” Sherlock told you. 
“I understand Uncle Sherlock. Thanks for the work experience, I appreciate it.” You smiled at him, starting to walk to the car that was waiting for you that you had taken to the location. Mycroft and Sherlock watched you go to make sure you got there alright, before Mycroft turned to Sherlock. 
“She’s not an idiot, Mycroft. She’s the opposite. I’d even say she’s even smarter than me, but she’d only be that if you let her. Let her finish school early and let her pursue what she wants, she might be one of the greatest minds we’ve ever seen. If you don’t she’ll just keep sneaking around grow resentful.” He told him. Mycroft, to the untrained eye, seemed to just turn and walk away, ignoring his brother. But Sherlock knew better. He caught that subtle huff, the huff and giving in. Sherlock smiled to himself, and now focused on finishing this case. 
Hope you like it! If you have any questions, please send them in! 
*Not my gif
TAGS:  @ssa-uglywhore27 @courtneychicken​  @graysonmalfoy​ @bellero​ @originalpottervengerlock​ @supernatural-pan​ @esoltis280​ @lady-of-lies​ @lenaswritingandstuff @macbetheliza @mandywholock1980​ @cdwmtjb8​ @caswinchester2000​ @determinedpines​ @huntheimpossible  @holy-tea-cup-blog​  @sassy-specter​ @keenmarvellover @multifandomfix @sleutherclaw @otterly-fey
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all-fandoms-fiction · 7 years
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Thanks dad (daughter!reader x Mycroft)
A/N: hopefully this doesn’t suck D:
Request: Could you please do a oneshot where the reader is mycroft's daughter and he tries to comfort her after her and her boyfriend break up. Thanks :)
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The front door was slammed shut with such force that it send the bang echoing through the whole house until it reached your father’s office in the second floor. It only got a frustrated sigh out of your father, which of course you couldn’t hear, so quiet it was, while you stumped up the stairs your backpack almost falling off of your shoulder. Mean while your father gathered the best fake smile he could over his lips. He knew you were as good at deductions as him and your uncle so it was a real struggle for him to fool you. Then again you were still so young that you couldn’t see through everything, but that didn’t include emotions or feelings.
To say the least, you were extraordinary for a Holmes. You could pin point emotions and even feel more than your father and his brother, and comparing to Sherlock it was quite much. You knew what expression was fake and what not and it was troublesome to Mycroft, since he couldn’t practically feel anything, or so you said and thought.
”How was your day, (Y/n)?” Your dad called from his office, the door was open which rarely happened and it was inviting you in for a chat, from that too you rarely declined, but today you were not on the mood to talk to anyone who had no capability on emotions.
You only groaned as loud as you could and stomped loudly to your room which was at the opposite end of the hallway from the office, repeating the loud sound of a door slamming shut.
Mycroft sighed louder this time, rolling his eyes at the ceiling and prayed for the god to save him. Your puberty was driving the old man mad and your rebellious behavior was tiring to him. He usually thought of sending you to your uncle to drive mad, but dismissed the idea soon enough. You were his responsibility, besides, Sherlock was even worse with kids and only one he really trusted would be John Watson or even Mrs Hudson who he had made some digging of, knowing she had been married to a drug dealer.
Your father went through all the possibilities in his head and wondered if he should just leave you be and go through what ever made you feel these negative feelings, but soon found himself shaking his head. He couldn’t be so careless. He knew well enough you would keep all this in until you decided you were over those feelings, then waiting for a next disagreement you shared, have a fight and then you would open up of your problems and most likely blame him for not being there for you. Then of course there was the dark side of that possibility that Mycroft hated more. You might not blame him, but he would.
Now your father, the so called ice man wasn’t one to give up. He had done many mistakes in his life before too, but that he hadn’t tried his best? Never had been accused of that. Mycroft would do all he could to keep the family he had started with you together, even if there were only you and him, it was enough for him and he intended to keep it that way. He knew how many daughter had started hating their fathers for not caring or paying enough attention to what their daughters felt and he wouldn’t be one of those. You could blame him for being nosy or overprotective even, but he would do all he could to keep you close.
Mycroft took a deep breath before he headed to your door. He stood there, not sure what kind of expression to put on his face, real or fake, so he decided to be neutral. He knocked on the door gently and called for you, ”(Y/n), may I come in?” He waited for your answer, but as he received none he took the matters to himself and turned the knob. He slowly, agonizingly slowly he could, pushed the door open just to make sure that if you were in middle of something you could stop him at any second. ”I’m coming in now.” He warned. The sound that followed was something he couldn’t describe the feeling it send through him. He heard you sob.
A breath got caught in his throat and he froze for a short second before pushing the door open, to see you on your bed, head buried in a pillow and back facing him. He looked at your shaking form, worry taking over him and he hesitated should he come in or leave you alone. He had come this far already, he wouldn’t chicken out now.
”(Y/n)?” Was all he could make out as he reached the side of your bed, taking a stand right next to it. His eyes wandered about, taking in all his surrounding like for example your backpack that he had bought for you, a very expensive one you had picked up by yourself and unwilling to take anything else thrown at the side of your room as it was trash. He frowned knowingly something was wrong.
You mumbled something through your pillow, something that your father couldn’t make out and by the weight on your mattress shifting you realized he had taken a seat next to you on your bed. You heard him say, ”Speak up, (Y/n), you know what I think of mumbling.” And you lifted your head from the pillow, tears on your cheeks and face red, eyes closed you shouted over your shoulder, ”He dumbed me!”
Mycroft was more than slightly taken aback by the knowledge. He winced on the bed and withdrew the hand he was about to lay comfortingly on your back. So you had been dating someone? It wasn’t that much of a surprise to him, though. He had always kept an eye on you, but you hadn’t that much spent time with anyone specific to make his alarms go off. He knew you had been lingering around this one boy more than he liked, but it still took him off guard for you to confess.
”He said that why would he waste his time on someone who has no feelings?” You cried out angrily. It was clear you were unintentionally blaming your family and DNA for being incapable of showing emotions in a normal way as others did.
”What happened, darling?” Mycroft asked softly. His hand had found it’s way on your back and rubbed the fabric of your clothes soothingly while he waited for you to answer. You could feel your body loosen the shake and relax in the touch of your fathers and after minutes of struggling you sat up and turned to your father, the pillow clutched in your arms.
”He wanted me to tell him how I feel about him.” you said with a weak voice, your eyes on the pillow you hugged. You sniffed. ”And I told him that he was nice…” With that said you broke down in tears. Mycroft didn’t push you with what had happened from there on. He brought you close to hug you while you cried and waited for you to calm down eventually.
”I hate to be who I am…” You cried out and buried your face to your father’s shoulder. Your sentence hit your father’s almost nonexistent heart. Yes, being a Holmes was much of a curse than a blessing, but learning to love yourself and your quirks was the key to that, and if one boy would be to harm all the progress you had made then he could just leave from your life.
”(Y/n), I understand that it is hard to be, what we are, as unnatural as it sounds, but you can’t start hating on yourself.” Mycroft pulled you away from him. ”I may not know much about relationships, but I know enough that if someone waits for you to change, it isn’t meant to be.” He searched for your eye contact which he earned not too long after his statement. ”And to be able to live you don’t need a partner. You can do it on your own, (Y/n). I know you can.” You nodded your head. This was calming from your father to say something like this. You did know that you couldn’t live the life your father had, only his daughter by his side, but he was right on some levels. You didn’t need someone who questioned you from the very core, your whole being. You didn’t need one now, that didn’t mean you wouldn’t find one some day. Besides your uncle was living with his best friend right now and had proved that friends were the ones that mattered the most.
”Thanks, dad.” You smiled. You brought the ice man back to a tight hug to which he answered more than willingly, smiling even when he had managed to calm you down.
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imagine-by-susu · 5 years
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Father!Sherlock x Daughter!Reader x Uncle!Mycroft - Holmes Christmas
A/N: It it HOT! Way too hot!! Summer has been unbearable the past weeks and I hadn’t the time to write (personal issues once again....) but I am back and ready for more :3 Request by anon :) Words: 1.274 Thanks to my beta reader @nightofthefallingstars GIF IS NOT MINE! REQUESTS ARE OPEN! Fandomlist _______________________________________________________________________
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“Can you two at least try to look happy?” you asked your father and uncle who sat on either side of you in the car. Both men looked out the window, a pout on each of their faces like little children. “I would be more happy when he wasn’t here.” both said in unison, eyeing each other for a moment before their gaze turned back out to the winter landscape. You only shook your head at both men. Sometimes you felt you were the adult in the group and you were barely 15 years old. It has been a year since you saw your grandparents the last time and it is a shame that you only meet them during the Christmas holidays. But with school and your fathers Cases it was hard to take a break and just get into a car to visit them. “Come on, it is almost Christmas can you at least try to get a long, please?” you begged them giving your best puppy dog eyes that your (Y/E/C) eyes you could muster. Sherlock scoffed at you. He hated those big eyes you gave him when you wanted something, probably because he couldn’t resist him so easily.
“Dad, please.” you begged your father again and he folded his arms over his chest and leant his head on the headrest while his eyes fixed on the ceiling of the car. Taking his action as a yes you turned to your uncle who didn’t dare to look away from the window he was facing. “Don’t even try it my dear niece. Those eyes won’t work on me.” he stated matter of factly but you rose an eyebrow at him. “Well, then you can say it to my face, right?” you challenged him and he scoffed a bit. “As long as Sherlock behaves…” Mycroft sent your father the look you had just sent him only seconds ago. Everyone in your family had to challenge each other in some way or another. Some days it can be fun, on other days it becomes unbearable. “We are here.” the cab driver said and immediately both Holmes brothers yanked the doors open and left the car, surprising the driver. With a sigh you gave him his deserved money you had taken out of your fathers wallet. And yes, you took his wallet because he wouldn’t notice anyway. You knew your family well enough to know that Mycroft and your father would leave the car without any hesitation, leaving you to pay. With a smile and a thank you, you as well, left the car and stepped out into the cold air. Goosebumps immediately arose on your skin and you rubbed your arms to warm them slightly. Both your father and uncle stood there already waiting for you. When you stepped up to them, your father held his hand out and you gave him an innocent look. “Wallet. Now.” he demanded and with a roll of your eyes you took his wallet out of your coat and handed it to him. “She is getting better and better.” Mycroft mocked in his brother’s direction giving you a somewhat proud look and you smiled at him. “Oh, I noticed after she put her coat on, but someone had to pay the driver, right brother mine?” now it was Sherlock with the mocking look before he turned to the door and knocked, Mycroft behind him with a frown on his face and you behind both of them suppressing a giggle. Moments later the door opened and an old man with white hair was revealed. “Mycroft! Sherlock!” he beamed with a big, wrinkly smile, hugging both men. Said men just stood there a bit awkwardly. Every year it was the same. Their father hugged them and none of them were really sure what to do or say. As the old man let his sons go, his blue eyes fixed on you and his smile got even bigger. “(Y/N)? Is that you? My, you have grown.” and now you were hugged by him as well and you laughed a bit as you saw your uncle and father both roll their eyes at their father. Before any of them could say anything, probably something rude like always, you opened your mouth. “Hey, Grandpa, I am happy to see you.” you said when he let go of you. The man smiled brightly and pulled you to his side. “You must be cold. Come in, Come in.” he gestured for you three to get inside. With a smile you welcomed the warmth of the Holmes home, the smell of the tree and cookies in the oven or how you would sum it up ‘the scent of Christmas’. “Tell me Mycroft how is work going?” your grandfather asked his eldest son, patting him on the shoulder. Mycroft was glad to talk about something he was good at. His work. Sherlock rolled his eyes and you gave him a warning look when he opened his mouth for a snarky remark. He only sighed and grabbed your coat and hung to his own before a force crashed into him. “Oh, you are finally here!” squealed a voice and your father with a look on his face, slowly and clumsily hugged his mother who nearly crushed his bones by the force of her hug. When she let go she grabbed his face and examined it closely. “Are you eating enough, Sherly?” she asked him and groaned making Mycroft smirk mockingly at his little brother. “I have better things to do than eat, Mother.” Sherlock said grabbing her wrists so she let go of his face. She only gave him a look but before she could scold your father you stepped in. “Grandma!” her eyes lit up and again, you received a bone crushing hug. “Oh, my little (Y/N). I am so happy to see you.” you laughed a little and over her shoulder you gave your father a look who only shrugged his shoulders before he left off to the kitchen, probably to secretly eat some cookie dough. Mycroft sneakily followed while your grandfather only shook his head not wanting to be the one between the fronts when his wife finds out. “I am happy to see you, too.” you laughed when your grandma finally let go. With a smile she looked you up and down. “Look at you. A fine young lady you have become.” you thanked her with a smile, complimenting her on her new haircut. “So, tell me, what is new in London? How is school? Any boyfriend?” she teased and from the kitchen you could hear the voice of your father. “No boys until I am dead plus three days to make sure I am really dead!” he shouted with a mouth full of dough. “Sherlock, are you eating cookie dough?” his mother said stemming her hands on her hips. A moment of silence. “No…?” he carefully said after a moment. “It was Mycroft!” he shouted. “Sherlock!” Mycroft warned and you laughed. Oh, how you missed those weird family reunions. There was always something to laugh at. “Hey, (Y/N), do you want to help me decorate the tree?” your grandpa asked from the living room while your grandma made her way back to the kitchen probably to beat your fathers and uncles ass. Not wanting to get involved you turned to your grandpa and nodded. So, while you both decorated the tree, singing christmas carols from the top of your lungs, your father and Mycroft were beat up with a rolling pin by your grandma. Yes, this was a typical Christmas with the Holmes Family.
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Name: How did I produce such a child? Pairing: Sherlock x reader Summary: Sherlock and the reader are married and have a daughter. Sherlock is playing with the child (Amelie, I called her Amelie), but doesn’t understand why the child keeps throwing the toy back at him.
“Here you go,” Sherlock hands the toy to Amelie, keeping the hand with the acid far away from her. Amelie smiles (you honestly think that she got her father’s smile) and throws the toy back in Sherlock’s face. Holmes frowns and turns to you. “Y/N!”
“Sherlock?” you somehow manage to stop smiling at his true confusion. “What is happening?”
“Why wouldn’t she hold the toy?”
“Why wouldn’t you stop doing the acid experiments at home?” you ask him back.
“Because it’s fun,” you raise your eyebrows, and Sherlock turns to Amelie, handing her the toy again. And getting it back in his face a second later. “So... It’s fun? Throwing a toy at her father?”
“Absolutely,” he sighs and sits down on the floor, taking the girl down with him. Amelie laughs, grabbing his hair and pulling it. “Amelie!” you rush forward and help Sherlock get his hair free. Surprisingly, Amelie has the strongest hands in the whole family, and once she grabs something, it takes enormous effort to set it free. “Do not pull Daddy’s hair.”
“She does not understand you,” murmurs Sherlock, and you are about to start explaining (again) that kids understand everything, and he is just being stupid, when Sherlock pulls Amelie close and starts swinging a little, stroking her hair. “She understands me.”
“Selfish little father, aren’t you?” you smile, as Sherlock nods happily and lets Amelie drool on his shirt. “What will you do when she starts dating?”
“Oh, I will always know if she is safe. And John said he will help me shoot anyone who tried to hurt her. And Mycroft promised to get her followed if anything happens?” John giggles, recalling how Sherlock attempted to strangle him when John states he may not have to ‘shoot’ the anyone.
“You are so selfish,” Amelie drools even more, and you gently take her from Sherlock. “I think it’s time for us to get some sleep.”
“Why do you never let Sherlock lull her?” John asks you, and you hold Amelie next to your chest, as she grabs your shirt.
“Do you think he can just leave her, as she starts crying? He is a helpless fluffy ball of soft spots when she makes the begging eyes,” you answer, as you stand up, followed by Sherlock’s unhappy glance. “Say good night to daddy and uncle John, Amelie.”
“Night, darling,” John waves at the girl, and you walk away, knowing that Sherlock will have to discuss the new case with John. He wanted to introduce your daughter to the world of criminal minds when she was born, but you know that it won’t end well, so the simple rule is that there is no criminal business discussed around the kid. 
“Murder!” Sherlock yells loudly, and you roll your eyes, feeling the excitement coming upstairs as a wave.
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winntwerwolf · 6 years
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Dad?
An: umm I don't really know what this one is, it's a Sherlock x daughter reader and they spend time together, I donno,
Warnings- fluff, mention of Mycroft and John, Rosie is quite older, she is like 15 and Sherlock's daughter is 18.
"Dad?"
I had yelled for my dad from the bottom of the stairs of our flat. It was weird for him not to answer back almost instantly.
"Dad?"
I yealled a little bit quieter than the first time as I made my way up the stairs quietly listening for signs of any trouble.
I stopped as I herd talking, it was another man's voice, I recognized the voice as I got closer to the door, there was another voice that spoke up and I recognized that voice as well. I stood by the door and listened as I heard them all talk.
"What do you mean she's not normal?"
Asked the third voice, that voice that I have known since early childhood. It was my uncle Mycroft that had said this to my father.
"Is she more like you or you?'
There was the second voice that was also very very femaillar to me, that was my father's best friend John Watson. His daughter Rosie was anything but a sister to me, even though we weren't related we had a close bond. People that know my father and John sees that me and Rosie have the same bond they do.
"She is my daughter-"
I was done listing to them talk about me without me in the room, I opened the door and all thier heads turned my direction looking at me while I just stood there looking at them.
I looked at Mycroft and preformed my deduction.
"Nervous, and he hasn't slept in a week, no three days, he had a date earlier that day? Hmm that's weird with who? Oh the woman from the coffee shop, that's right. He had also shaved but didn't finish as there were uneven marks on his face, and uncle being him he wouldn't be able to finish unless something was wrong or come up."
I norrwed my blue orbs at him as I was trying to figure out what was wrong and what was going on
I moved my gaze from my uncle to John and looked at him preforming an other deduction.
"He is hiding something, he is worried as he doesn't want to tell me what is wrong. He wants to tell me but it's not his child, something is very wrong."
He noticed that I was preforming my deduction so he just looked at my father for answers for my deduction. I also looked at my father who knew the next deduction that I was going to make was on him so he turned completely towards me and put his hands behind him to let me do my deduction.
"He needs to tell me something but not I front of the others, he didn't want to embarrass me in front of the others, he hasn't slept well in awhile, hmm iam missing something."
He smiled and noticed that I was confused about the deduction and the part that I was missing. I was trying to figure out what I had missed as he moved towards me, I was still in the middle of my deduction as he was arms length from me.
"very sound observation, but I was hoping you would go deeper."
I heard my dad from in front of me, I glared at him secretly telling him that I couldn't make out what was wrong. I huffed and was pulled into his arms, I felt safe and I relaxed a bit as he just held me there.
That's when it hit me, I knew what was wrong now as my dad hugged me I looked at John then at Mycroft and my eyes shot up at my father in shock.
"Where is Rosie?"
I asked out loud to know one in particular but talking to my father, well his chest as I let go of him and looked at his face. I looked at John with some fear as he looked at me probably with the same face.
"She is in her room-"
"No the door was cracked and the carpet was all messed up from the door and she has been gone for a while because her room is the same tempature as the living room and that takes about an hour for that to happen, but seeing that the carpet hasn't been moved says that she has been gone for an hour and a half."
I snapped back to reality and looked at John not through him and I saw that his eyes went wide as he looked at me then at my father and back at me. He looked at my father for answers as my dad just stood there for a monent and he froze, it was word seeing my dad not knowing what to do. I actually started to panic as my dad didn't do anything, he may still have sensed this and he came back to reality.
My dad looked at me and looked at John as he relaxed realizing that Rosie was all right.
"She is at Molly's."
I said softly as John let out a breath and walked out of the living room and into the kitchen, my uncle now uncomfortable just walked down the stairs and into the street probably wondering why he was related to us. Now it was just me and my father standing in the living room highly confused to what just happened.
"Chips?"
I asked my dad who was walking away from the living room.
"Chips."
My dad confirmed as we made our way down the stairs to grab ahold of our coats, I put on my blue scarf that was my dad's at one point before Molly got him a new one. He put his coat on and smilled at me as he walked to open the door for me and we walked down the street to get chips.
"You know your deductions are improving."
I heard my dad from beside me as I was still wacthing were I was going and I was still in thought as I felt my dad stop beside me, naturally I stopped beside him, waiting for him to say something to me.
"Y/N Holmes what ever is the matter?"
I looked at my dad and smiled weakly at him as I let him do his own deduction on me. He figured out that I felt bad for not just telling John were Rosie was and that I wanted to hang out with her earlier that day but she wanted to see Molly, but my God i missed her.
"c'mere."
My dad said before pulling me into a hug and holding me there tightly against his chest and running a hand through my hair as the other rubbed my back. I felt at home as my father had hugged me, I hugged him back and for awhile we stood there just hugging.
"Chips?"
I heard my dad ask softly as he was still asking if I wanted to eat with him. I laughed and punched him in the chest, not to hard but enough to play aroun be with him
"Chips."
I confirmed as he smiled and we walked to get chips not to far away
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