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#mycroft x irene
pennywaltzy · 11 months
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Myrene, 1, sapphire
@strangelock221b picked Myrene, 1, sapphire for my 25th Anniversary Prompt-A-Thon, which gave me "'As the old adage says...'." I paired it with the prompt "Write about a concert" from the 30 Day Writing Challenge.
Layers - Two enemies enjoy a choral concert together. Or are they really enemies?
READ @ AO3
“As the old adage says, keep your friends close but your enemies closer,” Mycroft said as he stood behind a woman in a stunning sapphire gown with jewels of the same hue dripping from her ears and throat.”
“Mycroft, must we be enemies?” Irene Adler said as she turned to face him. She was pouting, which he had to admit made her look even more attractive, and most women couldn’t pull that off.
“The last I heard, you were making a play for my brother.”
“And I failed. He’s got his mind stuck on someone here in London. My feminine wiles did nothing to impress him.”
“You must mean Dr. Hooper…” he murmured, and Irene looked intrigued. Damn. He should have kept his mouth shut. “You are to leave her alone.”
“Now Mycroft, whatever makes you think I want to go after him anymore? She can have him. I have my sights set...higher. Older. More mature.” She extended her hand. “Sit with me in my private box?”
He knew he should refuse, but as he had just told her: friends close, enemies closer. “Very well. But try anything and I’ll leave.”
“I suppose I can behave,” she said, her voice nearly a purr. He offered her his arm and she took it, and they made their way from the foyer to the upper levels of the opera house. She chatted a bit with people she passed, and he saw that only a few paled when they saw her. Perhaps the rumors were true, that she had retired from the secrets game.
The dominatrix game? That remained to be seen, and not by a Holmes.
Her box was one of the best at the Royal Albert Hall, with an unobstructed view of the stage and close enough to see with or without opera glasses. His own seats were one level higher so if nothing else, he would get a better view of the Royal Choral Society from here. She sat down, placing her small clutch under the seat, and he sat next to her.
“Now admit it, Mycroft. There are perks to being a friend of mine,” she said, giving him a small smile as she turned to face him. She place her hand on his knee and squeezed it gently, but made no move to remove her hand or move it anywhere else.
“I said if you tried anything…”
“I know what you’ll allow me to get away with. Nothing of a sexual nature, nothing of a sensual nature, nothing provocative…” She gave him a curious look, one he had trouble reading. “But comfort? It’s been a long time since I’ve seen an opera with someone.”
“I suppose, but you hand must be removed,” he said. She moved it away and he found himself offering her his own hand. She looked surprised, then took it, his larger hand engulfing her smaller one as the opera house lights dimmed and the show began.
When he went to the opera he usually went alone, or Anthea accompanied him if it was a show she wanted to see. But watching the opera with Irene was certainly an experience. She took in the music so vivaciously, feeling it with her entire body. Watching he was a lovely thing, almost as lovely as the performance on the stage.
When the performance was over, she let go of his hand and turned to him, a wide smile on her face. “I had a lovely time, Mycroft. I’d suggest that we have a drink at the Laurent-Perrier Champagne Bar, but that would be too intimate. But this was a lovely experience. Thank you.”
“I suppose...a drink wouldn’t hurt.”
“The look of surprise on her face was genuine. “Why Mycroft, I think we may be friends after all.” She stood up, as did he, and she took his again offered arm. “After you.”
He wasn’t sure why he was allowing her this extra time with him, but there was something beneath her surface that intrigued him. She was like a sweet onion, full of layers that should be peeled away to be revealed. And, perhaps, he could do that.
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tulipsforvin · 5 months
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ᥫ᭡. MTP CHARACTERS AS YANDERES
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✧ a/n: my dumbass deleted this request or something. i don't know.. it just kind disappeared so here i am, writing it again. @noregretzfoodieotaku here you go!! 😭
✧ ⚠️: mentions of obsessive behaviour, mentions of gore, stalking.
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MANIPULATION and mind games are a favourite of their's. They twist and turn their words - coating their venomous sentences with honey to hide their true intentions.
“I love you like a grave loves it's corpse; you rot into me while I embrace your decay. Where else would you find somebody like me?”
They are more subtle and discrete than the rest. And yet, they're the most dangerous out of all. They mess with your mind - loosening your screws and bending you to their will.
You shrivel, unsure of how to respond. “I-” You look away, not sure where to direct your gaze. “I can't.. because there's nobody else like you. There won't ever be anyone else like you.”
They tip your chin upwards to meet your gazw, a victorious smile gracing their facial features. “You're correct. You never can.”
They play the role of a god - a saviour, something holy that it seems almost comical to expect something dark out of them. They scheme right under your nose and yet they're completely unnoticeable - so when you're finally their's and in their complete grasp, you won't even be aware of what hit you.
the manipulators: albert j. moriarty, william j. moriarty, mycroft holmes, james bonde, charles augustus milverton.
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STALKING you is like second nature to them. They've memorized your sleeping schedule, when you get in and out of work or your educational institution, the type of food you eat and avoid, the places you frequent, etc.
They're on the more quieter side, similar to the manipulators. Yet, they won't initiate direct contact with you. Atleast not yet.
They watch silently as you move on about your day from the cracks of your doors or your windows, any opening that is accessible for them to get a view of you.
“Oh!” You gasp, bumping into somebody's shoulder as you get out of the subway. “I'm so very sorry! I didn't mean to—”
The figure disappears. You don't remember their face and all you have of them is now a love letter that appeared out of nowhere, the words written in blood.
You'll find remnants of their presence in the place where you live or go to work for/study. Footprints, gifts, shards of glass - etcetera, etcetera. Did they break into your house?
the stalkers: fred porlock, irene adler, zack patterson or zach paterson, billy the kid, von herder.
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DEVOTION is the first word that comes into your mind when you look at them. They obsess over you like canines - clawing and sharp, salivating and perspiring. It's messy.
They find their God in you. For them, ichor runs in your blood and they lick it off your wounds like the nectar the divine consume.
They are the most violent, most agressive and the loudest of the three. They tend to be overprotective and all consuming.
Bodies are slit and stabbed, throats and heads are beheaded and cut, entrails are put up as if they were decorations or stepping stones for the things or lives it took to get to you.
“Nobody,” They begin, wiping away the smudge of blood on their upper lip. “Nobody can seperate you from me. I will crawl back to you from the devil's grasp if you call me.”
the violently devoted: louis j. moriarty, sherlock holmes, sebastian moran, billy the kid(??)
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drarreckyninja · 2 years
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sherlock: home alone as kids
lestrade: tries to sled down the stairs but ends up with a concussion
mycroft: strategically builds a blanket fort
irene: takes a bubble bath but forgets to turn off the water
john: has a one-person dance party
molly: tries on all her outfits like a solo fashion show
sherlock: tries to make cookies but nearly burns the house down
anthea: orders a pizza and eats it all
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❀ⁱᶻᶻᵉˡˡᵃ ᵃˡˡᵉⁿ❀
𝕾𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖔𝖈𝖐 𝕳𝖔𝖑𝖒𝖊𝖘
ʷʰⁱˡᵉ ᵉᵃᶜʰ ⁱⁿᵈⁱᵛⁱᵈᵘᵃˡ ᵐᵃʸ ᵇᵉ ᵃⁿ ⁱⁿˢᵒˡᵘᵇˡᵉ ᵉⁿⁱᵍᵐᵃ, ᵃ ᵍʳᵒᵘᵖ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ᵇᵉʰᵃᵛᵉˢ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵐᵃᵗʰᵉᵐᵃᵗⁱᶜᵃˡ ᵃᶜᶜᵘʳᵃᶜʸ.
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𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊
From BBC:
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SHERLOCK HOLMES
Molly's problem:
Synopsis: You discover that you are in love, unfortunately with the same man your friend loves. How will you survive that?
═══ೋ. CHAPTER 1
═══ೋ. CHAPTER 2
JAMES MORIARTY
IRENE ADLER
𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐋𝐀 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐌𝐄𝐒
From Netflix:
ENOLA HOLMES
VISCOUNT TEWKESBURY
SHERLOCK HOLMES
MYCROFT HOLMES
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luvfromeve · 2 years
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Official petition to fancast Natasha Lyonne as Harry Watson
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ilenissu · 2 years
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The screen lit up with a colourful picture of Greg laughing and Mycroft stared at it for a longer while before realising that he had to, in fact, swipe right to pick up.
“Hello?” He hummed, raising his eyebrow.
“Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade from Scotland Yard. I’ve come to the possession of evidence that shows you haven’t been loving and appreciating yourself enough. Any alibi? Testimony? Would you like to call your lawyer? Anything you say can and will be held against you in court.”
Mycroft went quiet for a minute or two. He blinked a few times, trying to process what he had just heard and snorted loudly, hiding his face in his palms.
“You’re not an inspector yet, Gregory…” He pointed out, a smile audible in his voice.
“Key word: yet.” Greg admitted, shifting positions. “And once I am, I’d better be careful. Don’t think that I won’t arrest you just because you’re my boyfriend.”
Mycroft chuckled. “Arrest me for what exactly?”
“Being so cute and not in my arms. That is a crime.”
“What kind of crime?”
“A hate crime.”
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himegureisu · 9 days
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4 | the Woman
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Summary: There are times when cases need a woman's touch. This is where you finally introduce yourself to your brother-in-law. This is set at the end of S2 E1 A Scandal in Belgravia.
Pairing: Mycroft Holmes x Female Reader
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—————————— 🔎——————————
“There are people we can get into this,” Mycroft said,
“I tested that theory for you. I let Sherlock Holmes try for six months,” she bragged, “Sherlock, dear, tell him what you uncovered through that x-ray of my phone,”
Irene Adler, professionally known as the Woman, a dominatrix of significant influence was obvious. Her only advantage was the fact she was playing against men.
Half a year, the Holmes men stumped at what to do. What a sight, however, it’s best to end their misery.
The Woman hands over her list of requests. However, that’s not going to happen, not on your watch.
“Oh, that’s a shame. Can’t I join in the fun?” you said.
Their eyes shifted as you entered the study in your battledress. Her exchange pauses as you stand behind Mycroft. Your brother-in-law quietly observes and thinks by the fireplace. His head towards the three of you.
“I did hope Sherlock would get this one,” you sighed, as you stretched your hand out to Irene, “May I?”
“Be my guest,” she offered.
“You’re rather transparent,” you twirl the mobile in your hands, “You don’t need a genius to unlock this. Just a woman that understands her kind,”
“Oh, do go on,” she stands, to sit on the edge of the table.
“There are times when women are affected by their interests. Others would say this is a disadvantage. Yours are the Holmes men, specifically, Sherlock. There was no other way to get to Sherlock without committing a crime except in your profession, you could pursue a different avenue,” Your eyes rest on Mycroft as they start to figure it out, “Two birds in one stone. Agitate the older brother, you get the younger. Women play a different kind of dirty and you played a game against men that was your advantage. God, did you pull their strings well but that ends tonight. The psychology of women, gentlemen, is that the most obvious is sometimes the most overlooked,”
“Craving the distraction of the game I sympathize entirely but sentiment?” Sherlock stands, walks over, and reaches out to you for the phone which you finally hand over, “Sentiment is a chemical element found on the losing side,”
Oh, Sherlock how wrong you are on that. Love and sentiment can be an advantage.
“When we first met, you told me that disguise is always a self-portrait,” Sherlock mused, facing the Woman, “How true of you. The combination to your safe, your measurements, but this is far more intimate. This is your heart, and you should never let it rule your head.”
“You just couldn’t resist, could you?” you interjected.
“Everything I said, it wasn’t real,” she whispered, silently pleading to Sherlock, “I was just playing the game,”
“This is just losing,”
I AM SHER LOCKED
“Thank you for the additional information,” he addressed you, “It was enlightening,”
“There you are, brother,” he passes the device to Mycroft, “I hope the contents may make up for any inconvenience I may have caused you tonight,”
“I’m certain they will,” Mycroft assured. His brother started to stare out the window, “If you’re feeling kind, lock her up otherwise let her go,”
Willaim Sherlock Scott Holmes was nearly outsmarted by a woman. What a brilliant turn of events.
It wasn’t long until someone escorted the woman away leaving you to the Holmes men.
“I thought he wouldn’t get it,” you address Mycroft, sitting on the chair he previously occupied to observe Sherlock, “Then again if he knew where to look for the safe code, he would get it eventually,”
“Why are you here?” Mycroft said. You give a look and say, “You know why I’m here,”
“Who are you?” Sherlock asks.
“Do make a deduction, Mr. Holmes,” you challenged, standing up for a better view, “What can you say about me? Oh, I heard you’re quite good at this,”
His eyes quickly take a once over you. To the way you did your hair, makeup, and casual clothes. His brother, your husband, hovered on the other side of the table.
What will Sherlock say about you?
“On your dominant hand, your middle finger is calloused from how you hold your pen, suggesting office worker. In a high position, by the value of your shoes. Your makeup suggests you like to be presentable but not elaborate or gaudy. Your clothes are clean except for a few loose strands of hair. No pets. Your engagement and wedding rings, shiny and clean, happily married then. Your husband is successful in his career by the size of that diamond and…”
His ramble paused. His eyes meeting yours, you give a casual curious gaze. His senses were on overdrive, recognizing the particular scent of leather of a car that often escorted him to his brother.
“No, that’s not possible,” Sherlock withdrew, “Has my brother found himself a goldfish?”
“No, not a goldfish, brother mine,” Mycroft defends. His ring, matching yours, shines in the firelight, “No, she’s out of their league,”
“How long has that taken him?” you asked Mycroft, in front of you as Sherlock remained speechless, “A minute,”
“A good minute, yes,” he confirms, as he goes to stand by your side, “I do wonder why you decided to reveal yourself, my dear,”
��I was fed up. You two dancing in her tune for half the year,” you complained, “You ditched Christmas Morning traditions,”
“I promised to make it up to you, my dear,” Mycroft reminded, however, unable to act on his plans yet, “And I did return earlier than expected,”
“Six years, Myc! We never shirk on trad —”
Before you can finish your ramble, Mycroft leans in and presses his lips against yours in a tender kiss. It was a pleasant interruption.
One Sherlock didn’t appreciate.
Your eyes widen for a moment before you melt against him. Your arms wrap around his waist, returning the sentiment. Sherlock clears his throat, breaking the moment between you and Mycroft.
“Years?” he remarked, “I never knew the Iceman could melt,”
“No, just thaws from time to time,” you cheekily smile at Mycroft who rolled his eyes, “Are you two finished? I’d like to turn in before the sun comes out, ensures at least one of us gets sleep,”
“We are finished,” Mycroft affirmed, walking toward the door, “Do us a reprieve, brother mine, don’t take cases on the weekend. You don’t know what it does to our schedule,”
“It was nice meeting you, brother-in-law,” you teased, your smile caught him off guard, as you walked to Mycroft’s side. He didn’t remember the last time someone was pleased to meet him. They were often annoyed or irritated. “Have a good evening,”
His brother has been married for years, and he didn’t know. How could he not know?
“Shame I’d wanted to see the Woman in cuffs,” you comment, as you walk side by side through the halls, “It would have made for an interesting night,”
“Would you like that, my dear?” Mycroft asks.
“If you’re open to it,”
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sakuplumeria · 3 months
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Moriarty the Patriot / Yuukoku no Moriarty Ask Game - Alternate Universe Edition
Choose a number for a character and an alphabet for a scenario, and put it in my ask box! I’ll answer the question. Feel free to reblog if you want to answer questions too :)
Pick a character:
1) William James Moriarty
2) Albert James Moriarty
3) Louis James Moriarty
4) Sebastian Moran
5) Fred Porlock
6) Zach Patterson
7) James Bonde
8) Jack Renfield
9) Von Herder
10) Moneypenny
11) Sherlock Holmes
12) John H. Watson
13) Miss Hudson
14) George Lestrade
15) Mycroft Holmes
16) Irene Adler
17) Henry Antrim (Billy the Kid)
18) Mary Watson
19) Wiggins
20) Adam Whiteley
21) Charles Augutus Milverton
22) Favorite character
23) Other character (mention in the ask)
Choose a scenario:
A) Lives in modern times. What kind of vehicles does the character ride?
B) Goes out to space. What does the character miss the most from earth?
C) Turns into an animal. What animal does the character turn into?
D) Has magical powers! What powers does the character have?
E) Creates a Tumblr account. What does the character like to post?
F) Is in the orchestra! What instruments does the character play?
G) Spends time in the theme park! What attractions does the character play?
H) Lives somewhere outside the UK. Which country/city/place does the character live in?
I) Bodyswaps with another character. With whom does the character swap with?
J) Signs up for an RPG. What is the character’s username?
K) Signs up for an RPG. The character can be a rogue, a warrior, a mage, a trickster, an archer, and a priest/healer. What class does the character choose?
L) Lives in modern times. What phone does the character use?
M) Has elemental powers (for example fire and water), Which element does the character control?
N) Is in a restaurant/bakery/coffee shop AU. What does the character do?
O) Is in a hospital/medical AU. What does the character do?
P) Goes to Hogwarts and is currently wearing the Sorting Hat! Which house does the character get?
Q) Is a serial killer in the modern world. What weapon does the character use?
R) Is suddenly the most famous person in the world. What is the character famous for?
S) Is forced to have a date for a prom. Who will the character ask to fake date?
T) Is in the Olympics sports AU. What sports does the character play?
U) Is a solo traveler. What things does the character always bring with him/her?
V) Lives in a parallel universe where London is peaceful and doesn't have social gaps. What does the character do in such a peaceful world?
W) Is born from a Greek god/goddess. Who are the character’s parents and does the character have any powers?
X) Is a mythological creature. What creature does the character live as?
Y) Is created as a droid. What does the character programmed to do?
Z) Is a YouTuber. What kind of videos does the character upload?
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Severed and Broken(Part 2 of “Deduce Me”)
So many people requested a 2nd part to “Deduce Me”, so here it is! *Familiar Characters are NEVER mine!*
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Warnings: Soulmate AU, angst (no fluffs given here), It’s short. Reader is broken. 
Pairings/Characters: Sherlock Holmes x fem!reader, Mycroft Holmes
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"And why should I do this for you, Sherlock?" Mycroft's question grated on Sherlock's nerves. "Mycroft, I do not ask you for anything. I don't need favors from you in normal circumstances, but I need this." Mycroft cocked his head to the side for a moment as he thought. When John had called him and told him what Sherlock had done, Mycroft was determined to stay out of it. But now Sherlock was here, asking for his help. And Mycroft liked you. You were good for Sherlock.
         "I will see what I can do," he finally replied to his brother. Sherlock didn't thank him as he left Mycroft's office. The elder Holmes sighed before picking up his phone. As soon as he knew Sherlock was gone, he dialed your number. "What is it, Mycroft?" your tired voice asked when you'd answered. Mycroft quickly explained what Sherlock asked him to do and you scoffed. "Of course he did. The choice is yours, Mycroft. I won't hold any ill will for you if you choose to help him." You hung up, leaving Mycroft with a decision. He wanted to respect your choices, but he also wanted to help his brother. With that in mind, Mycroft texted Sherlock the information.
         You weren't at all surprised when, three days later, you found Sherlock standing outside the soulmate clinic. "What are you doing here, Sherlock?" you asked. "You cannot do this," Sherlock simply stated. You stared at him for a moment before you began laughing humorlessly.
         "Why not?! Why shouldn't I?! You clearly don't care. You didn't even notice I was gone!" you shouted, "I-I can't do this anymore, Sherlock. It isn't fair to either of us. Having a soulmate might not mean anything to you, but it does to me. Something has to change here. And I won't make it be you."
         Sherlock stared at you for a moment, as if waiting to see whether you were finished shouting at him. When he determined that you had, at least for the time being, he spoke. "You've always known who I was, Y/N and you have stood by my side just as Watson has. I do not think I could really forget you if I tried." You let out a scoff.
         "Really? What about the next case? A case that tickles your mind and pulls you in so deep you cannot tell fantasy from reality? What if Moriarty somehow returns? Or the next Irene Adler comes along?" you asked as you fiddled with your fingers. Sherlock couldn't argue for once. He knew you were right this one time. He opened his mouth to speak, but you continued on in your tirade.
         "Face it, Sherlock, your cases and yourself will always come first for you. And that's fine. But I won't sit idly by, letting myself die a slow and painful death at the hands of my supposed soulmate. I love you, Sherlock, I truly do, but I can't go on in this constant pain. So, I am severing the bond and releasing you from your tie to me. I wish you the very best. Please don't try to stop me."
         Before Sherlock could stop you, you raced inside. As he was about to take off after you despite your wishes, his phone pinged with a text. Lestrade with a case. Sherlock glanced up at the doors of the clinic, then back down at his phone briefly. It only took a second for him to make up his mind what he would do.
         Sherlock would learn the consequences of his choice a couple of hours later when he nearly fell to his knees in pain. When he desperately tried to reach out to you through the soul bond, he could no longer feel it. The two of you were no longer bound together. You had done it and for once in his life, Sherlock felt something akin to remorse. He only hoped you would be content with your choice.
(a/n: I hope you like it! Fluff was apparently off the table for this one though.)
Forever Tags: @fizzyxcustard @supernatural4life2022
Deduce Me Tags: @sherlocks-blanket @zizzlekwum @let-me-r-e-a-d @high-functioning-lokipath @cemak 
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Love Hits You Unexpectedly, Sometimes
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A random, kinda crack pjo x mtp crossover
Random little PJO x MTP thoughts but William and Louis would be children of Hades. Before someone rocks up with "They're children of Athena" I simply want to avoid the whole "Sherlock and William are technically siblings in that vein of thought."
Following on from that, Sherlock could only be a child of Athena for me, unless there is some god of detectives and critical thinking or something.
(Maybe Louis and William are students of Athena on Olympus because they were cool or something, idk)
Moving on though, Albert is a child of Achlys and he carries it around as the most depressing burden ever. The man would not be able to get over it. Mostly, this connection comes through poison and Achlys being the personification of Sorrow (his dramatic ass in the tower is the only proof I need).
Mycroft I'm 30/30/30 on. One hand, he's Sherlock's half brother and the son of Zeus (cause he has that whole leadership thing going on), on the other hand, he's the son of Athena and Sherlock's full brother, and on the other other hand, he's a child of Ares and represents battle strategy. So while Sherlock is normal intelligence, Mycroft is strategic intelligence. The most probable one would be child of Athena but it's fun to think about.
James is a son of Aphrodite and has the most beef with Hera for being all "femininity this, masculinity that." He loves Artemis and her hunters, briefly considered joining her hunters when he was Irene, then found he didn't fit there. He's still invited on hunts sometimes.
Jack and Moran would be kids of Ares, with Jack being some legacy type guy, one of the very few Greek Demigods to survive to old age. If it were set in the Percy Jackson Universe, Moran would but heads with Clarice a lot and Jack would mentor her.
Herder is a son of Hephaestus, done.
Moneypenny gives off the vibe like she'd be a child of Hestia but I'm fairly sure Hestia has a virginity vow so maybe she's just a follower? If not, then maybe a child of Demeter (cause she provides) or Hermes (cause she's a secretary).
John's a child of Apollo in every Will Solace aspect of the gig. The man's a healer, a ball of sunshine and a soldier in one breath. the only thing he probably couldn't do is play music. Billy is also a kid of Apollo and takes on more of the aspects of the "archer" since he's a gunslinger.
Miss Hudson is a dryad or some other creature from the camp.
Patterson, weirdly, is also a child of Athena. He, Sherlock and Mycroft aren't particularly close as siblings but they do see eye-to-eye (Sherlock gets jealous of him a lot).
Fred would probably be a child of Persephone, which makes a strange relationship between him, Louis and William.
Bill is a child of Hecate for all the mystery around him. He can hide things and is extremely smart in doing so. He natural math skills are just his and have no connection to Hecate (I really tried to find a god that relates to him but Athena is the only other one and it just bothers me how many of them would be children of Athena).
Adam Whitely would be a child of Zeus but he'd die trying to protect his human brother.
Wiggins would be some mischievous little forest creature that bothers Sherlock for food.
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rey-jake-therapist · 3 months
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Is it bad that I want John and Molly to date in my fic?
Is it even a thing in the fandom? A John x Molly ship?? John wouldn't dare to tell Sherlock because he's still not sure about how Sherlock feels about Molly or even about him, also he's not sure that Molly got over Sherlock, see the picture? Molly on the other hand never expected to fall for John, but it happened and now she's afraid he thinks she's using him to get Sherlock jealous. Or that Sherlock's in love with John and will be hurt to see him with her.
(In case you wonder, Sherlock knew all along and just waits for these idiots to speak. He's way too busy chasing his dead ex. Sorry it's not Irene it's an OC!)
Also Lestrade would make the shocking revelation that he's Mycroft ex and now that he's divorced he would want to get Mycroft back but he thinks Mycroft despises him.
And yes there's also a whole detective story going on but this is the type of stuff that keeps me awake at night.
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anonymousewrites · 11 months
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A Study of the Heart and Brain (Book 2) Chapter Four
Father Figure! Sherlock Holmes x Teen! Reader
Chapter Four: Turbulent Christmas
Summary: Sherlock and (Y/N)'s frustrations with this case grow as Irene disappears for months on end.
            “Eat,” said Sherlock as John put toast and jam down in front of them on the breakfast table.
            “Only if you do,” countered (Y/N).
            “Oh, come on, dear, you’re a growing kid. Eat up,” said Mrs. Hudson encouragingly.
            (Y/N) sighed but obeyed. They and Sherlock both had a weakness for Mrs. Hudson, even if they pretended not to. She was a grandmotherly figure to them and watched out for them even when they were being idiots and not taking care of their health.
            The door to flat 221B opened, and (Y/N) glanced up. Seeing it was Mycroft, they didn’t bother to respond and just went back to eating toast with blueberry jam.
            “The photographs are safe,” said Sherlock by way of greeting.
            He’s not wrong perse, thought (Y/N). Irene is going to keep them safe. She had stolen them back when she dropped off Sherlock’s coat.
            “In the hands of a fugitive sex worker,” said Mycroft with as much dignity as he could muster through his grumpiness.
            “She’s not interested in blackmail. She wants…protection for some reason,” said Sherlock. “I take it you’ve stood down the police investigation into the shooting at her house?”
            “How can we do anything while she has the photographs? Our hands are tied,” said Mycroft, hands tight around his umbrella.
            “Ironic choice of words,” said (Y/N) innocently, causing John to joke on his tea and Sherlock to smirk. Mycroft just scowled.
            “You see how this works—the phone is her get-out-of-jail-free card. You have to leave her alone,” said Sherlock. “Treat her like royalty, Mycroft.”
            “But not how she treats royalty,” added (Y/N).
            John had to put his teacup down. He was going to keep choking if they kept going. A sigh echoed through the room, and everyone froze. It was distinctly feminine and distinctly sexual.
            “Uh, what was that?” asked John.
            “Text,” replied Sherlock, not looking up from his paper.
            “But what was that noise?” questioned John.
            Oh. Irene’s playing a game with him. (Y/N) was tempted to smile. Irene was clever. As long as she didn’t prove to be totally cruel and sadistic, (Y/N) thought they could end up liking her.
            “Did you know there were other people after her, too, Mycroft, before you sent John, (Y/N), and me in there? CIA-trained killers, at an excellent guess,” said Sherlock.
            “It’s an absolute disgrace,” said Mrs. Hudson, bringing more toast to encourage (Y/N) to eat. She had learned that once they were eating, as long as they didn’t stop, it was pretty easy to keep them going for longer. Otherwise, (Y/N) would go back to ignoring their needs and focus on the case. “Really, sending your little brother and a teenager into danger like that. Family is all we have in the end, Mycroft Holmes,” reprimanded Mrs. Hudson.
            “Oh, shut up, Mrs. Hudson,” snapped Mycroft.
            Mrs. Hudson gasped, and Sherlock, John, and (Y/N) all exclaimed, “Mycroft!”
            Mycroft cringed at their glares and looked at Mrs. Hudson. “Apologies.”
            “Thank you,” said Mrs. Hudson primly. Sherlock’s phone sighed again, and she frowned. “Oh, that’s a bit rude, that noise, isn’t it?”
            Sherlock glanced at the message and put his phone back without answering. “There’s nothing you can do and nothing she will do as far as I can see,” said Sherlock, continuing his conversation with Mycroft.
            “I can put maximum surveillance on her,” said Mycroft.
            “Why bother? You can follow her on twitter. I believe her username is ‘TheWhipHand,’ ” said Sherlock.
            “Yes. Amusing,” said Mycroft sneeringly. His phone rang, and he stood. “Excuse me. Hello?” He walked into the hall so (Y/N) and Sherlock couldn’t listen in like they’d like to.
            John cleared his threat. “Sherlock. Why does your phone make that noise?”
            “What noise?” asked Sherlock, acting oblivious.
            “That noise—the one it just made,” said John.
            “It’s a text alert. It means I’ve got a text,” said Sherlock.
            “Your texts don’t usually make that noise,” said John.
            “Someone decided to personalize their alert sound, apparently,” said (Y/N).
            “So every time they text him—” John was punctuated by a sigh from Sherlock’s phone.
            “Evidently,” said Sherlock.
            “Bond Air is a go, that’s decided. Check with the Coventry lot. Talk later,” said Mycroft as he rejoined them.
            (Y/N) cocked their head. Looks like Mycroft and his government are up to something. Sounds important. They filed the information away for later use if needed.
            “What else does she have?” asked Sherlock, again focusing on Irene. Mycroft pretended to not understand. Sherlock folded the newspaper. “Irene Adler. The Americans wouldn’t be interested in her for a couple of compromising photographs. There’s more.”
            (Y/N) nodded in agreement. They had figured out the same theory with Sherlock. “Something big is coming, isn’t it?” Does it have to do with Bond Air or whatever Mycroft is doing? They did not voice that final thought. It had no factual basis, just intuition. Mycroft was almost always involved in at least five classified operations, so there was no telling what in particular this could be about.
            “Irene Adler is no longer any concern of yours,” said Mycroft. “From now on you will stay out of this.”
            “Oh, will we?” questioned Sherlock, standing and picking up his violin.
            “Yes, Sherlock, you will,” said Mycroft. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a long and arduous apology to make to a very old friend.”
            “Do give her my love,” said Sherlock as he began playing “God Save the Queen.”
            Mycroft rolled his eyes and walked out the door with Sherlock playing louder to ensure he heard it the entire way to the street.
l
            Unfortunately, Mycroft was right. For months, there was no hide or trail of Irene. She didn’t try anything, didn’t demand anything for her information, and didn’t even cause any scandals. Finally, Christmas arrived, and things remained (relatively) peaceful in 221B as they celebrated.
            Christmas lights and a tree laden with presents lit up the room, Lestrade stood in the kitchen doorway with a glass of wine, and Mrs. Hudson was grinning and sipping eggnog as Sherlock played “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.” (Y/N) lay on the couch with a candy cane, humming along to the music.
            Sherlock finished, and Mrs. Hudson clapped. “Lovely! Sherlock, that was lovely! (Y/N), you should play!”
            “Maybe a little later, Mrs. Hudson,” said (Y/N).
            “Anybody like some tea?” said John as he and his newest girlfriend ((Y/N) couldn’t remember the name) entered the room. He set down the platter of tea and biscuits.
            “No, thank you, Sarah,” said Sherlock.
            (Y/N) considered. They weren’t certain that was her name. But they were smart enough to not try and get it wrong.
            Sure enough, John’s girlfriend’s face fell. John interrupted, trying to keep everything was going worse. “Uh, no, no, no, no, no. He’s not good with names,” said John apologetically.
            “No, I can get this,” said Sherlock. “No, Sarah was the doctor, and then there was the one with spots, and then the one with the nose, and then…who was the one after the boring teacher?” (Y/N) shrugged.
            “Nobody,” said John’s girlfriend sullenly.
            “Jeanette, then!” said Sherlock. “Process of elimination.” He smiled falsely.
            John glared at him before guiding Jeanette away before more went wrong. A knock sounded at the door, and Molly walked into 221B.
            “Hello, everyone!” said Molly awkwardly. “Sorry, hello. Er, it said on the door to just come up.”
            “Oh, everyone’s saying hello to each other. How wonderful,” said Sherlock as everyone began hugging and shaking hands and chit-chatting.
            “It’s nice to see you,” said Lestrade, handing Molly a glass of wine.
            “Yes, thanks. I wasn’t expecting to see you, either,” said Molly. “I thought you were gonna be in Dorset for Christmas.”
            “First thing in the morning, me and the wife. We’re back together. It’s all sorted,” said Lestrade.
            “No, she’s sleeping with a PE teacher,” said Sherlock.
            (Y/N) sighed. Ever since Irene disappeared, he had been testy and acting out by saying his deductions, rude or not, whenever he felt like it. (Y/N) might not have been good at social norms either, but they could tell people were beginning to be annoyed by it.
            “Sherlock,” hissed John, putting on a smile when Molly turned to him.
            “And John. I hear you’re off to your sister’s, is that right?” she asked conversationally.
            “Yeah. First time ever, she’s cleaned up her act. She’s off the booze,” said John.
            “Nope,” said Sherlock. (Y/N) nudged him with an unopened candy cane to make a point.
            “Shut up, Sherlock.” Luckily, John was used to him.
            “I see you’ve got a new boyfriend, Molly,” said Sherlock. “And you’re serious about him.”
            “Sorry, what?” said Molly nervously.
            “In fact, you’re seeing him this very night and giving him a gift,” said Sherlock.
            Yeah, she’s giving you a gift since she has a massive thing for you, thought (Y/N). “Sherlock—”
            “Shut up and have a drink, Sherlock,” said Lestrade, trying to push a glass into his hands.
            “Oh, come on. Surely you’ve all seen the present at the top of the bag, perfectly wrapped with a bow,” said Sherlock, gesturing to Molly’s bags of gifts. “All the others are slapdash at best. It’s for someone special, then.” He picked up the gift in question. “The shade of red echoes her lipstick either in an unconscious association or in one she’s deliberately trying to encourage. Either way, Miss Hooper has love on the mind. The fact that she’s serious about him is clear from the fact she’s giving him a gift at all. That would suggest long term hopes, no matter how forlorn, and that she’s seeing him tonight is evident from her makeup and what she’s wearing. Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts—” Sherlock abruptly stopped as he read the tag of the present.
            “You always say such horrible things. Every time. Always. Always,” said Molly tearfully.
            Sherlock softened. He considered Molly a friend, and although he was very bad at being friends with people, he didn’t want her to cry. Again, he was acting out because he had no news on the Irene case. “I’m sorry. Forgive me,” he said. He stepped towards her. “Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper.” He kissed her softly on the cheek.
            A sexual sighed rang out, and everyone unused to it jumped. Molly looked panicked. “No! That wasn’t—I didn’t—!” she cried.
            “No, it was me,” said Sherlock casually, picking up his phone.
            “My God, really?” exclaimed Lestrade.
            “My phone,” corrected Sherlock.
            “That’s the fifty-seventh from today,” remarked (Y/N). “What is she saying that you’re not replying to?”
            “Excuse me,” said Sherlock, distracted. He walked to the mantelpiece and picked up a red-wrapped gift with a black bow before disappearing into his room. (Y/N) and John exchanged looks. That was odd, even for Sherlock.
            (Y/N) followed him to his door and knocked. “Can I come in?” they asked.
            “Yes,” said Sherlock.
            (Y/N) opened the door and stepped inside. Sherlock was sitting on his bed with the open gift on his lap. Irene’s phone was in his hand. “That’s hers,” said (Y/N) matter-of-factly.
            Sherlock nodded. “Just told Mycroft that they are gonna find her dead tonight,” he said.
            (Y/N) furrowed their brow in surprise and a little regret. Irene had been an intelligent woman, and if Sherlock said she was going to die, then she most likely was. And it was unfortunate.
            Sherlock stood. “They’ll take her to Bart’s when they do. I’ll identify the body.”
            (Y/N) nodded. “I’ll go with you.”
            “No,” said Sherlock.
            “No?” asked (Y/N), hurt that they couldn’t go.
            “No. Dangerous people are involved. They may be waiting out there. Tonight, stay here with John. I’ll be back quickly,” said Sherlock.
            “Oh. Alright,” said (Y/N). “Merry Christmas, Sherlock…”
            Sherlock’s eyes softened. “Merry Christmas, (Y/N).” With that, he was gone.
            (Y/N) followed him with narrowed eyes. “John, get in here!”
            John walked in. “What, what is it?”
            “Sherlock thinks Irene is dead and is going to the morgue,” said (Y/N), pulling out one of Sherlock’s drawers.
            “Shit,” cursed John. “It’s a danger night, isn’t it?”
            “He’s been clean pretty much since he took me in,” said (Y/N). They sighed. “But that doesn’t mean he’s perfect. And if it’s not cigarettes, it’ll be something else.”
            “We’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything,” said John. “And he’ll be working, too.”
            “I know, I just…Sherlock doesn’t have good coping skills. And I know I don’t either.” (Y/N)’s brow creased. “But I don’t want him to get himself hurt.”
            John’s gaze softened. They’re trying so hard to protect him, and they’re just a kid.
            “I’ll help you look,” said John.
            And while the party continued outside and eventually dwindled, (Y/N) and John searched through Sherlock’s room. Finally, the door of 221B opened again. Sherlock had returned.
            He walked into his room, sullen. “I hope you two didn’t disrupt my sock index.”
            “You know we didn’t,” said (Y/N). “Is…Irene actually dead?”
            “Yes,” said Sherlock, voice clipped.
            “I’m sorry,” said (Y/N), trying to be comforting.
            Sherlock sighed and caved seeing the worry in their face. “(Y/N)…I’m not going to relapse. I won’t scare you like that.”
            “You sure?” said (Y/N) quietly. “You respected Irene. And she’s dead. I know you’re hiding that you’re not alright.”
            “You’re right,” admitted Sherlock. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to relapse.” I’m not going to put you through that worry and anxiety. Not my kid.
Taglist:
@stilesstilinskiforlife-blog
@im-making-an-effort
@ilse235
@schrodingers-intelligence
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drarreckyninja · 2 years
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sherlock: in a haunted house
anthea: laughs at the fake effects
sherlock: scares the others as a joke
john: plays along with sherlock
molly: screams at every corner
lestrade: can't figure out why these things exist
irene: tells lestrade to let loose and have fun
mycroft: no fucks are given
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onceandfuturemoron · 1 year
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have you met our youngest?
I want a Merlin and Sherlock crossover where magic exists and Merlin is the youngest Holmes. And because of him Eurus has someone to play with and favours Merlin and teaches him everything.
unlike his older siblings Merlin's actually a very sweet and friendly person and always smiles, makes small talk, is friends with everyone. (Just typical merlin).
he definitely got bullied in school tho but Eurus was there so not to worry;)
Also Arthur is the prince of Wales and Merlin becomes the minister of magic and is literally the leader of all the magic users around the world but he goes by the name "Emrys" because he doesn't want to put his family in danger (cause he has so many enemies). And they're dating:))))
In addition to Merlin x Arthur, John x Sherlock, Mycroft x Gregory, Eurus dates Morgues and Morgana dates Irene:)
I want a Christmas at the Holmes's when John gets to meet the whole family for the first time and is really confused at seeing the fucking prince of the Wales cuddling up with his boyfriend's little brother who apparently is the greatest sorcerer to ever walk the earth. Greg is amused (he's been dating Mycroft for longer so has met the family before) and pats him on the shoulder and explains everything since Sherlock forgot to mention it all.
John also finds it amusing after he sees how Merlin treats his older siblings. Gives them hugs, kisses on the cheek, telling them jokes and they actually smile and laugh and joke and hug and kiss Merlin back.
John has soooo much fun and sits to gossip and shittalk about the others with Greg and Merlin and Morgana and Irene:) and he gets a liking to Merlin really fast especially when he sees how much he looks like Sherlock:) (they look so much alike. I'm dead)
so you see? I want a fic of a genius Merlin in a family that show him love and appreciation and spoil him. Give me. I need thisssssss.
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cinebration · 2 years
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A Real Problem (Sherlock Holmes x gender neutral!Reader) [Request]
OK uh so.. I recently played a hidden object game called vermillion watch morgate accord. In which there was a gender neutral person called Y/N Hawkes and everyone called us young hawkes. We were also a famous owner slash detective of a firm called vermillion watch and in the bonus part, We had to stop Irene adler from blowing up the whole underground rail track of England, we approached, sherlock holmes but he refused for personal reasons which almost cost us our life? So now we hate him so could you do a Henry Cavil!sherlock x reader where enola goes to reader with Tewkesbury for shelter as after her mother and sherlock, she is inspired by young hawkes and their deadly adventures plus we live a little away from civilisation. Please! The reason why enola went to young hawkes is because she knows the rivalry between the two great and famous detectives and sherlock wouldn't even think to come there but he actually does? And let me also differentiate the kind of detectives they are. Sherlock takes normal, and those cases which can be done only by humans, whereas Young Hawkes takes cases which involves werewolves, Vampire, beasts and many world dominating cases?—Requested by @aura-nightingale
I worry that Sherlock is a little out of character for this. I kinda had to rush through it. I apologize if it isn’t as good as you hoped.
Warnings: none
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Gif Source: mrcavill
Sherlock stared up at the façade of the inconspicuous building tucked between a tailor and a cobbler. Vermillion Watch, for that’s the sign declared it as, should not have been situated among a row of clothing-related businesses. It didn’t matter that Vermillion Watch fronted as a haberdashery; no one in the detective business—whether that be detectives themselves or potential clients—was fooled.
The establishment was a detective agency.
Sherlock despised that it took pains to disguise itself so feebly. Rumor on the streets all funneled to the place as one stuffed to bursting with secrets, its shadow darker, deeper, and longer across the cobblestones than its neighbors—a great squatting, portentous beast waiting for anyone to enter its maw. The establishment’s red theme only added to the notion of a bloody mouth eager to devour patrons.
Though he had heard of it before, Sherlock had never visited the place. Interacting with other detectives usually bored him, not least of all because they had nothing valuable to contribute and were mere pale imitations of his great genius. But the owner of Vermillion Watch earned even more of his disdain, when he cared to display it, for one reason alone: They hunted the supernatural.
Sherlock had been forced to acknowledge the existence of such creatures in the pursuit of answers to his normal cases. Though he knew them to be real, he established a clear delineation between him and the paranormal. He avoided any cases that carried even a faint whiff of the supernatural. He was a rational man with a logical mind beyond that of the norm; he would not deign to meddle in the irrationality that was the otherworldly.
What brought him to Vermillion Watch on a blustery autumn morning was not any case but his sister, of all things. She had absconded with that young viscount, Tewkesbury, for whatever reason—Sherlock did not really care to know, as Enola’s business was her own unless she laid it at his door—and had delivered him and herself to Vermillion Watch.
He was there to liberate her. Whether that was from the clutches of the Watch’s owner or from her own foolishness—for, despite her incredible intellect, she was still young and not as experienced in the world—it didn’t matter. He would leave with her firmly in hand.
It occurred to him as he pushed open the heavy door that he ought to have brought Mycroft, if only to set him on the owner as distraction while Sherlock retrieved Enola and her young viscount. His brother had enough disdain and vitriol—and experience conveying it to biting effect—that it would have been a pleasure to witness.
A bell above the door chimed, alerting the owner to Sherlock’s arrival. He let the door shut quietly behind him before striding further into the room. Like many of the buildings, the narrow façade did not indicate a small space for wares, merely one that wasn’t very wide across. It took him several seconds to cross the length of the business from the door to the reception desk at the far end.
You emerged from the curtained room beyond that, a pleasant smile on your face. You froze.
Sherlock nearly smiled in response to your abrupt stop. “Hawkes.”
Your lips pressed in a thin, dangerous slash across your face. “Holmes.”
“I assume you know what I’m here for.”
“Oh, you assume?”
“Where is Enola?” Sherlock shifted his attention over your shoulder, scanning the area for telltale signs of an answer.
“Enola?” You feigned puzzlement. “Oh, that would be your sister, wouldn’t it? Quite a firecracker, she is—not unlike me, I must admit. She fell so very far from the Holmes tree, didn’t she?”
Sherlock’s attention shifted back to you, a small frown creasing his chiseled features. “Is she or isn’t she here?”
“You are in my establishment, and as such, I am not obligated to answer such insolent questions.”
Sherlock smiled thinly. “Then you won’t mind me surveying your premises?”
He moved past you suddenly, moving his incredibly muscled bulk faster than he had any right to. You tried to step in his path, but he easily moved around you, slipping behind the heavy curtain concealing your real occupation.
The room was nigh claustrophobic with the sheer number of volumes and tomes stacked into as much available space as the backroom could afford. Sherlock’s gaze swept over the titles embossed on the books’ spines. All iterated on the theme of the occult, the supernatural, and the metaphysical. Shaking his head, he scrutinized the area for signs of Enola or the viscount, ignoring you as you stormed in after him and tried to insert yourself unsuccessfully time and again in his path.
“You don’t see me coming into your establishment,” you snapped, jabbing a finger at his thick chest.
“That would be because I have no establishment,” he muttered in response, cocking his head as he glanced at an uneven dust pattern beside a chair heaped with yellowing dailies. He moved toward it.
You forced yourself before him again, brandished a switchblade that appeared in your hands out of nowhere.
He paused, his eyes flicking between the blade and your determined expression. “What do you suppose to do with that?”
“Carve that pretty face of yours into scrimshaw, if I like.”
Sherlock shrugged. “I don’t require it much.”
Your expression faltered, lips pressing into a thin line. It wasn’t the response you were expecting, that much Sherlock could tell. You were trying to bait him into a fight, a reason for you to hurt him. Not that he expected you capable of inflicting much damage, not with the element of surprise missing.
You might be adept at hunting vampires and werewolves, felling them with your silver bullets and wooden stakes, but the law applied to you in terms of assaulting a flesh-and-blood human. Sherlock didn’t think you dense enough to jeopardize your entire operation merely to settle some infuriatingly inconsequential personal dilemma. You hadn’t truly required his help stopping Irene Adler from destroying…whatever it was she had intended to destroy; therefore, he had not offered it, not even when you came begging for it.
He considered it an object lesson. If anything, it taught you to rely on your own self-sufficiency and intellect. Frankly—not that he cared—you should be thanking him for refusing to help, not sullying your intellect with the odious marks of bitterness.
Reaching past you and your furious features, he hooked his fingers around the bookcase adjacent to the newspaper-infested chair and pulled. The bookcase swung open easily, disturbing the dirt and dust on the floor in the same pattern he had seen in the displaced detritus. Sherlock shifted you aside and descended the stairs.
You stormed after him, shaking with fury.
Enola jerked her attention up as Sherlock entered the room at the bottom of the narrow staircase. A lopsided grimace pulled at her lips as she exhaled nervously. “Oh, you found me. I thought…I thought you would never look for me here.”
“You should cover your tracks better,” Sherlock admonished. “Others could find you just as easily.”
“I thought we’d be safe here.”
“Why? Young Hawkes”—he spoke the name with an almost Mycroftian sniff—“is useless against the people of the natural world.”
“I am not.”
“If you intend to use Irene Adler as an example, I would point out that the woman hardly belongs to the human species.”
Though not as adept at reading human emotion as his sister, Sherlock could feel the ire radiating off you—which meant you were quite furious, for him to have felt it, in any case. Suppressing a sigh, he strolled around the small cubby—the room couldn’t be called much more than that, though it wasn’t so disgusting as to be deemed a hovel—casting an uninterested glance at Tewkesbury, before returning his attention to Enola.
“We are leaving.”
“No.”
He arched an eyebrow.
Enola shook her head hard, adamant. “I chose to come here. I don’t need you dragging me back into trouble.”
“Your very presence here indicates you are in nothing but trouble.”
“It isn’t trouble you should concern yourself with.”
“You are my ward, however loosely the term applies. Concerning myself with you is my business. Unless you would prefer I transfer my legal responsibility back to Mycroft?”
Enola paled, but her jaw clenched, her position firm. “I am staying here, and what’s more, I am working with Young Hawkes.”
Sherlock went utterly still, his eyes fixed on his sister’s face. With a woodenness that spoke danger, he turned to you, took in your smug expression. The knife had disappeared, your arms folded over your chest.
“She’s a better Holmes to have on my side,” you quipped, lips pulling back into an unbecoming snarl. “You heard the girl. Now get out of my establishment.”
Sherlock glanced back at Enola, lips compressed into a thin line. “You do yourself no favors staying here with Hawkes.”
Enola lifted her chin. “I know what I’m doing.”
A minute look of disappointment passed swiftly over Sherlock’s features. “No, you don’t.” Facing you, he gestured back up the stairs. “Lead me out.”
You laughed, a harsh bark of a sound. “I don’t take orders from you.”
He nodded. “Because it is always better to allow your enemies, since you think of me as such, unsupervised access to your offices?”
He ascended the stairs without waiting for your incensed reply. You followed after him, stomping each foot on the individual treads.
Before passing through the door to the haberdashery, Sherlock turned sharply, startling you with the unexpected motion. He glared into your face, his normally stoic expression replaced with something fiercely protective.
“If anything happens to her, I am holding you personally responsible,” he stated. The cold enunciation of each word did more to chill you than if he had snarled them. “You will face justice for whatever ills befall her.”
You could have thrown a caustic retort in his face, but the conviction in his voice and expression forced you to acquiesce. “I will look after her. Not that she needs much of it.”
“Thank you.”
Sherlock strode out of Vermillion Watch, leaving an astounded Young Hawkes behind, and resolved to keep an eye on the establishment for his sister’s sake. If he had to, he would become a real problem for you.
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