its sherlock related so why not~

The Exception to Every Rule

His pale knuckles clutched and unclutched the steering wheel, his wrists locked and his entire body tense. Even though their relationship was progressing well, Greg Lestrade always felt like nervous when he saw Mycroft. It was a good nervous – those butterflies in his stomach, the inability to think about anything but the government official. All of it was blissful.

Finally, he saw the restaurant door opening and the tall figure twirling an umbrella walked in the direction of Greg’s car, Mycroft allowed a thin smile to touch his lips as he saw the NSY vehicle, and his grin grew when Lestrade stepped out of the car to greet him. “Good evening, Gregory.” Mycroft said. Greg nodded to him.

“Hey Myc. How was your meeting? I’m still upset it was a dinner meeting. It just means I can’t make you food.” Greg pouted momentarily, but Mycroft was soon kissing those lips and they turned upward in the form of a smile once more. It was just a quick kiss by way of a pleasant greeting; more would definitely be to come later on. Plus, there were people all around them, and Mycroft had a serious reputation that could be tarnished if people discovered secrets about his personal life. Greg was the same way, but it wasn’t as vital. Plus, everyone had their suspicions about his life anyway. They already knew all about the last relationship problems he’d had with his wife, but the couple wasn’t ready to announce to the world that they were each other’s better half yet. In time they would, but for now, they were happy to just enjoy each other and the best secret of their entire lives.

Of course, it wasn’t a complete secret. Sherlock had deduced immediately and had sent mocking texts to both of them, but secretly the sleuth was pleased that his brother had found someone.

“Inspector, tonight is not about the food anyway. I haven’t seen you all week, and it has been absolutely miserable without you.” Mycroft said, unafraid to open up now that they were both in the car. Greg couldn’t help the soft look that he gave the other man, pure love radiating off of him.

“What would you like to do tonight, Myc? I was unsure when you would actually be finished with your meeting, so I didn’t exactly make plans.” Greg admitted, rubbing his neck. Mycroft patted his thigh.

“That’s quite alright. I too am at a loss as to how we should spend the evening.” He gave the other man’s thigh a slight squeeze.

“I have an idea. It’s a wonderful night, and there’s a park nearby. Let’s go for a late night stroll.” Greg smiled over at him.

Mycroft, who normally despised legwork, returned the expression. “Gladly, my dear Gregory.”

A slight tinge of red tainted the DI’s cheeks as he pulled away from the curb, but they soon arrived at the park and stepped out of the car.

“So, I trust your week was tolerable?” Mycroft asked as they set off into the park, his arm hooked with Lestrade’s as they went further and further down the pavement.

“I managed. About drowned in paperwork. And your brother is being absolutely insufferable now that he knows we’re together.”

Mycroft stopped walking. “Of course he is. I will talk to him. My apologies for his behavior, Gregory.”

Lestrade stopped as the other man did. “It’s fine. It’s Sherlock. I’m used to his antics.” He chuckled softly, his eyes meeting the other man. “Why did we stop?”

Mycroft glanced up to meet Greg’s gorgeous eyes. “Just thinking about something. It’s nothing.”

“Are you sure? Is everything okay?” Greg’s concern was immediate, and he tugged on Mycroft’s arm as the other man started walking away again. “Mycroft.”

Greg had uttered the name so softly, so gently, that Mycroft sighed. “Talk to me, Mycroft.”

“It’s in relation to work, Gregory. I cannot. That meeting was quite problematic in its own right. I don’t want to trouble you. Come on. Let’s keep walking. This park is beautiful, especially at night.” Mycroft said, dragging the other man along the pavement once more. Greg shook his head and quickened his pace to be at his side again.

“I can think of something more beautiful.” Greg said, nudging Mycroft. The man’s cheeks flushed pink and he bit his lip to conceal a smile.

“Nonsense.” Mycroft said with a shake of the head. Then, as he came to a fork in the sidewalk, he stopped walking again. Greg stood there beside him, their arms still hooked together.

“Hmm, decisions, decisions.” Greg said with a chuckle. Mycroft nodded to him.

“Quite so. I have made a different decision though.” And he turned to face Greg, unlinking their arms so he could hold both of his hands. He leaned forward to quickly peck him on the lips, then took off down the right fork of the path. Greg furrowed his brow. So now Mycroft was doing that to him too. Leaving him wanting more. He wasn’t surprised. And damn it, did he want more. Mycroft tasted absolutely exquisite, and Greg never tired of his lips on his.


Their starlit walk continued through the park, coming to an old military memorial with a wall of names, a jet, and a tank.

“Fascinating…” Mycroft said, glancing over at Greg before he let go of his hand and with childlike eagerness, actually ran over to the tank to get a closer look.

Greg’s brow creased in confusion, his interest piqued by this strange behavior. “Myc, what are you doing?”

But the other man didn’t respond. He was too busy reading the plaque next to the military vehicle. Once he had finished that, he brushed his pale, slender fingers against the tracks of the tank, his hand running over the bumps of the chain as he did so. He wandered all the way around the tank to the back of it, smiling to himself. Greg had never seen his face so lit up and excited about something like this before.

He liked how adorable Mycroft looked this way. “Mycroft?”

The other man finally turned to face Greg. “My apologies. I am a rather avid fan of history and weapons of the past. In fact, I have a rather moderate armory in my house. Perhaps I can give you a tour sometime.” Mycroft’s lips twitched into a smile. Greg returned it, beaming at his boyfriend. “Normally I never let anyone see it, but you’re the exception to every rule, my dear Gregory.”

“I have been racking my brain trying to figure out what else you liked besides silent films, and now I learn it’s weapons.” Greg said, enjoying that he was learning more about the mysterious man he’d chosen to fall for.

“Not weapons generally. Just historical weapons. And any literature on the nature of military stratagems, historical battles, et cetera. If I hadn’t gone into politics and government work, I would have loved to study history…” Mycroft said all of this whilst further admiring the tank, and Greg took special opportunity to admire this rare side of his boyfriend. He stepped a bit closer, watching Mycroft’s fascination, fascinated himself.

The next thing Mycroft knew, he was being gently pressed against the side of the tank. His eyes widened as Greg shoved him back against the tracks. “Gregory?”

“Shh, you are so beautiful like this. Even more so than usual.” As soon as Greg had said that, their lips were locked together. Mycroft fumbled to reciprocate, being taken off guard in the moment. However, his arms soon found their way around Greg. One hand caressed the man’s cheek, which was covered in a thin dusting of gorgeous silver stubble. Mycroft’s other hand wound up in the small of Greg’s back. Greg’s hands both ended up on either side of Mycroft’s face, holding him in place to get a better angle for the snog. Their fronts were pressed flush against each other, and Greg quickly pressed into Mycroft even more, deepening the kiss and the adoration they both felt for each other.

Mycroft had finally recovered enough to return the kiss properly, competing with Greg for who was actually controlling the moment. In the end, Greg won out. He kept a tight hold on Mycroft, one of his hands trailing around to end up just above his ass. His fingers clutched at the fabric there, crinkling Mycroft’s elaborate suit coat. In that moment, Mycroft did not care one damn bit about folds in his coat. He would much rather worry about the tongue sneaking across his lips, mingling with his own.

Moments later, when both of them were gasping for oxygen, they opened their eyes and looked on one another. Greg smirked at him and pulled away. Mycroft immediately went to adjust his tie, his chest rising and falling rather quickly. His heart was pounding against his ribcage, and he was yearning for more, oxygen be damned.

“Well, I never thought I would do that.” Mycroft said rather softly, his voice barely a whisper as he inhaled deeply.

“What, snog your boyfriend behind a World War II tank?” Greg said with a teasing way about him. Mycroft opened his mouth to reply, but then closed it as Greg finished his sentence. He was soon throwing his arms around Greg and kissing him again. This one was by no means as heated as the previous, but that didn’t mean it was any less affectionate toward the other man. Mycroft tugged away with a smirk of his own.

“Hmm… okay. I’m sensing a reason for that one.” Greg chuckled to himself, running a hand through his hair. Mycroft nodded to him, his arms still around the other man’s neck.

“Quite so, Gregory. I couldn’t help myself when you actually knew what kind of tank it was. And I know you didn’t read the plaque; you were too busy ogling me.” Mycroft laughed as Greg blushed in the dim light behind the tank. “But anyway, you were quite right. I never thought I would kiss anyone whilst being shoved against a tank. Life is funny like that sometimes.”

“You’re not wrong, Mycroft,” said a new voice from behind them, a baritone voice. It was a familiar tone, and one that quickly exasperated the government official. He let go of Greg and whirled around, seeking the exact location of the voice.

“Sherlock, what in the hell are you doing here?” Greg asked as the detective came out of the shadows, his long Belstaff billowing in the evening breeze. The coat collar was flipped up, of course.

Then, to make matters even more embarrassing, John stepped out from behind a tree as well. Mycroft’s face was absolutely burning, and Greg’s was no better.

“Well, Sherlock and I were tracking a murder suspect, but it seems we stumbled across something much more interesting.” John’s eyes positively glowed with mischief, and Sherlock chuckled.

“Interesting. Appalling. What difference is there in this case, really?” The sleuth gestured rather flamboyantly to the two other men.

Mycroft put a hand to his face, drawing it over his features in annoyance. “Will you two kindly leave us be? The Inspector and I are quite busy at this moment.”

Sherlock raised his brows at his brother. “John and I were here first. We’ve been scouting this park for hours.”

Mycroft glared at his little brother. “Sherlock, shut up.”

Another laugh escaped the detective, as well as the doctor beside him. “Come on Sherlock. Leave them to their fun. Let’s just hope they don’t shag here in the park. That could be awkward.”

“For God’s sake, Dr. Watson!” Mycroft said. Greg burst out laughing at his boyfriend’s reaction as John and Sherlock trailed away, Sherlock singing a very inappropriate version of “Greg and Mycroft sitting in a tree.” They could hear the boisterous laughter of the crime-solving duo as they walked off. Mycroft could not stop blushing, and refused to face Greg until he could gain a better control of his emotions.

“Mycroft, come on. That wasn’t as mortifying as you’re making it out to be.” Greg said, gently reaching for the other man’s hand. “Come on, we still have a walk to finish.”

“I have a better idea. Come back to my house. I’ll show you the armory. There’s a very comfortable Persian rug in the center of the room that would do well for a continuation of this evening’s activities.”

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I feel that we haven’t talked enough about this line right at the end of His Last Vow; particularly by wondering about all the other occasions Mycroft might have said something of this nature to Sherlock.


Free Ride

God he was big. Really big.

Sherlock looks him over carefully. Fights the urge to step away. He feels sure they’re not generally this…large. Or maybe they are. Frankly he hasn’t ever been this close to one, or if he has he didn’t really look. They’ve never had any relation to The Work, so why would he?

Still, now that he’s up close, just about touching it, he’s surprised at its delicacy, its warmth, its beauty.

Oh yes, that. That bit, there.

Sherlock’s startled to find it beautiful, and he rarely lets himself see that, much less say it. But he’s just now spoken that word, just now touched the softness, the—

“Thank you.”

Sherlock Holmes looks up, at the man between whose thighs this beauty stands. Again he’s amazed at the size, and again Sherlock murmurs something complimentary and the blond-haired man grins wider, and says, “Would you like a ride?”

Sherlock can’t answer for three long seconds.

Then Sherlock takes one second more to tease through the jaw-dropped reality that his throat’s gone dry and he’s breathing funny and… “Yes.”

John Watson smiles wider, then reaches for the man’s hand. He’s long since learned that if he seems to need help dismounting, somehow it makes the horse less threatening.

On the ground John strokes the gelding’s soft side. “Mike belongs to an old army friend of mine. Now and again I get to take him out for a bit of a bareback stroll through the park.” The man smiles. “I’m John.”

At Sherlock’s muttered name, John grins, taps his guest’s right arm. “So now, take hold of his mane here. Yes, just like that, then pull and step…yes that’s good, now up you go!”

John Watson doesn’t wait, simply reaches for Sherlock’s hand, murmurs, “Hold tight,” pulls and swings behind his guest.

“Well done. Are you ready?”

Sherlock is busy being distracted by the heat of the big animal between his legs and the heat of the small one at his back. Again John Watson doesn’t wait, but squeezes the horse with his thighs and the moment Mike moves Sherlock yelps (“No I didn’t,” he’ll say one year from today. “Yes you did.” John will reply.), so John takes hold of his guest’s waist.

“I’ve got you.”

The genius who notices the furled-up edge on a plaster, the stopped watch on a wrist, the stain on the knot of a tightly-tied tie, does not for the next five minutes notice when they stop so a child can pet Mike; doesn’t feel it when a low-lying branch brushes across his forehead; doesn’t see the Queen’s Guard contingent of twelve plumed soldiers ride by on their own fine mounts.

No, all Sherlock Holmes notices is the measured breathing behind him, the sweet smell of it (apples, the man’s breath smells of summer apples), the hand gently holding him steady.

Actually he notices much more than that. The flex of hip and thigh as John guides the horse with subtle pressure. He feels the puffs of breath when the man murmurs words surely the horse can’t hear and yet seems to and—like Mike—Sherlock relaxes when John reassures, “It’s fine, it’s good, such a good, good boy.”

And for the first time in Sherlock Holmes’ life he deduces strange things. Things like he would be kind; he would listen; maybe he would…

They stop and smooth as you please the small man dismounts. Before either of them has time to school his expression to placidity Sherlock is hopefully looking down at John hopefully looking up.

Yet somehow they’re about to let the moment pass, because each has been alone long enough that it’s begun to seem normal, maybe safe. Then Mike makes a chest-deep sound and turns his head. It’s difficult to tell which man he’s looking at, but it spurs one of them to speak.

“A past client of mine works in the Shard lets me onto the observation deck whenever I like would you like?” The words fall out of Sherlock’s mouth as if aided by gravity and he wonders if John, all the way down there, can see the flush he feels creeping up his neck. (“I totally did,” John murmurs a month later. “Oh you did not,” Sherlock whispers back.)

Still and all, John’s about to say something along the lines of, “Thanks a lot but no…” because John’s still not ready to acknowledge certain personal things, but you know what? Mike has pretty much had it.

The horse, who is exceedingly fond of apples, lowers his head and noses at John. He does not, however, press his velvet against the pocket in which John still has a half dozen succulent slices. He presses it between John’s legs.

It is at this time that both men drop their gazes. It is at this time both become acutely aware that neither of them is, well, gelded.

John clears his throat. John clears his throat a second time. Still and all his voice is a bit croaky when he reaches a hand up to Sherlock and says, “Let’s keep riding awhile.”

Quickly they again settle one behind the other. For a long time neither is aware of much but the other’s breathing, of murmured words, low laughs. For a long time they completely forget to guide the horse.

It’s fine, it’s all fine. Gentle and steady Mike takes them through dappled light. He’s got them. Mike’s a good boy. A good, good boy. And he’s got them.

 Previous: The Tell-Tale Heart | Up To Speed

LeMisanthrope wanted John on horseback. I wanted innuendo, a bit more innuendo, and then true love. Thank you LeMisanthrope!

Dear Lang Ya Bang fans there,

I’m crying and dying over the show. I’ve just finished all 54 episodes(watched on Youtube) and I’m totally devastated. I’m not very familiar with Chinese TV shows but I know that Lang Ya Bang is absolutely brilliant, beautiful and magnificent. And all the characters and actors are amazing. Hu Ge is amazing and Wang Kai is amazing. I’m so in love with this show and actors. What can I do? Why are there no more episodes? Why? There has to be another 100 episodes! *cries*

Wouldn't Mary Know about the inferior vena cava?

I wrote in the original article: Why Mary Shoot Sherlock but not Magnussen, that Mary chose to shoot Sherlock in the liver but she could not have foreseen that the bullet would hit his inferior vena cava and give him a cardiac arrest. 

In answer to everyone who asked why as a nurse Mary would not know the exactly anatomy of the inferior vena cava:

I am a doctor and I spent an entirely year of my life studying human anatomy in excruciating detail but I had to get out my anatomy textbook to find out where exactly the IVC would be in relation to the midline at the point where Sherlock was shot.  I’m not a hepatobiliary surgeon and I don’t use my anatomical knowledge of the IVC in my daily job. I don’t use the information, its just not useful in my line of work so it is natural for me to forget. 

I do not expect a nurse at the GP surgery to know exactly where the IVC runs. Frankly I doubt the GPs would remember that much anatomy.

Besides human vein anatomy is very variable, even the great veins like the IVC. The only way that Mary could have known exactly where the IVC was is to do an ultrasound scan. Just estimating the position of the IVC using surface anatomy is very hard, let alone when the person is clothed. 

Therefore it is perfectly understandable that Mary could not have predicted that she would end up hitting Sherlock’s IVC. 

shit my mum and i have said whilst watching asib together over the years (cos its the only episode we can agree on watching when it comes to sherlock)
  • mum: i hate that song now, every time i hear it i just think of this bloody show
  • me: *laughs*
  • mum: love how it's her calling, though like she saved him and he doesn't know
  • me: maybe he does know and that's why he saves her, mum?
  • mum: no i don't think so because he's a bloody idiot
  • ---------------------
  • mum: i love how he's looking at photos of her while she's looking at photos of him
  • me: yeah, it's a nice visual parallel
  • mum: actually come to think of it they kind of look the same
  • mum: are they related?
  • me: WHAT? NO!
  • mum: not the characters, obviously but the actors-
  • mum: well, not that they know of...
  • ------------------
  • mum: there is a lot of nudity in this episode
  • me: mmm hmmm
  • mum: but they're never naked together :(
  • me: well, not that we know of...
  • ------------------
  • mum: SEE! they've even got her wearing his coat! they could be brother and sister!
  • me: mum, this isn't game of thrones, okay? its a deliberate thing that they look similar so that they show she is his equal kinda thingy
  • mum: but then it just looks like he's falling in love with himself
  • mum: well, he would actually
  • mum: bit of a narcissist, isn't he?
  • me: "i love you, female me"
  • mum: *mock gasps* you're a sick child
  • me: but you just-! *face palms*
  • ------------------------
  • mum: is she outside wearing nothing but that coat?
  • me: supposedly
  • mum: that'd be cold, i hope they gave her a heat pack to shove up there while they filmed it.
  • ----------------------
  • me: i love how mrs hudson is basically their mum
  • mum: yeah i hope she doesn't get violently killed i'd prefer she lived
  • ---------------------
  • mum: what's the noise on the phone??
  • me: i really shouldn't have to explain that to you
  • mum: so you know what it is?
  • me: of course i know what it is i'm not 2
  • mum: how do you know what it is?
  • me: cos I know how the human body functions, mum
  • mum: *grins* go on tell me what it is, then-
  • me: no! you know what it is!
  • mum: you're just as squirmy as sherlock, it's really funny.
  • me: well, excuse me for not wanting to explain orgasms to my so called mother!
  • mum: *grins*
  • me: shut up
  • -------------------
  • me: did u know that benedict actually smoked for this scene and they had to do the take so many times he got nicotine poisoning
  • mum: how many takes?
  • me: idk like 30?
  • mum: *laughs* that's weak
  • ----------------------------
  • mum: WHY IS SHE GAY?? I NEVER GET THAT? she wasn't gay in the original, right?
  • me: nope. idk mum it's kinda dumb
  • mum: she's a pretty bad lesbian if she falls for a BOY- does she know he's a boy?
  • mum: I mean, that bendledid guy kinda looks odd but he's definitely a boy
  • mum: lesbians don't get aroused by guys so she's lying about something here
  • mum: bloody hell, who wrote this? definitely wasn't a person with an understanding of being gay.
  • me: *sighs* you are more right than you know, mumma bear
  • ---------------------------
  • mum: you're pathetic
  • me: what? me?
  • mum: yes, you! you always grin when he finds her asleep in his bed with your dumb "i love irene and sherlock" soppy face and drool everywhere.
  • me: but its so cute mum cos she really could've crashed anywhere but she wanted him to see her, you know? i just like the idea that that's where she felt most comfortable, in his bed and his little smile like "ha got her".
  • mum: i suppose
  • mum: ...
  • mum: rewind it.
  • ----------------------------------
  • me: i always wonder where watson goes for this scene cos he's not there.
  • mum: probably didn't want to watch his best mate get shagged by his clone
  • me: MUM OMG
  • ----------------------------------
  • mum: he's not a virgin, though.
  • mum: not in this day and age, mate
  • mum: not after she's through with ya
  • --------------------------------
  • me: mum, we've watched this 30 times, now
  • mum: i just the way he says THE woman, go on rewind it one more time just one more i promise
  • me: *sighs and rewinds*
  • mum: hehe don't you just love that?
  • me: you're pathetic
  • mum: *gasps*
  • mum: the Woman
  • mum: *sighs* and of course she'd be naked he's such a bloke
  • mum: omg she's touching him
  • sherlock: out of my head i'm busy
  • mum....
  • mum: what a dick head
  • ------------------------------------------